


Follow the Stepping Stones

by Katreal



Series: Materia-verse [1]
Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi | Spirited Away, 大神 | Okami, 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Eventual Multiple crossovers, Gen, Influences from FFIX, Materia, Materia-verse, Multiverse, Summon Materia Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 120,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katreal/pseuds/Katreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summon materia is the least understood type of materia, but even they have rules. Or so Zack thought until he found a summon materia buried in the snow of Icicle Area. This one seems intent on challenging Zack's understanding of the world. When more begin to show up, he's faced with an uncomfortable question--just what are the Summons? And are they truely alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spirit Fox

**Author's Note:**

> This originally began as a drabble series that morphed into a story. It begins before the game, and then follows Crisis Core for a while, before it begins to diverge. It will be a multiple crossover, even if the main focus remains on Kurama and Zack. Companion stories may be written and posted as I go along--they will be placed in the Materia-verse series for ease of location.

Zack didn’t hate much.

Paperwork was near the top of his list, along with the creepy professor in charge of the science department, but other than those Zack couldn’t come up with anything else off the top of his head. Usually.

Right now, staring at a monster that was literally nothing but a gaping mouth ringed by teeth the size of his forearm; he was considering adding this thing to his list. The rest of its body was made up of a waving knot of tentacles, and those things were poisonous.

Usually, being a First Class SOLDIER meant that he didn’t have to worry about status effects all that much. Sure they slowed him down during the battle, but once adrenalin levels returned to normal the mako made quick work of them.

Judging from the searing pain in his arm where one of those tentacles had grazed him, this guy’s poison would be much more troublesome. Zack gritted his teeth and used longsword to block an incoming swipe; the force sent him sliding back in the knee-high snow, stopping just short of slamming him into the cliff wall.

When the mission said Icicle Area, Zack had been expecting a quick visit to the skii resort town, making short work of the fugitive, and then spending a leisurely day snowboarding to his heart’s content while waiting for his transport. Of course he’d gotten the snowboarding in—he’d had to snatch some kid’s ride when the fugitive panicked and tried to escape down the snowy mountains on some purloined skiis.

That was how he’d ended up here, in the middle of gods-forsaken snowfields, with a cowering lump of frozen scientist some few feet to his right. He was supposed to return this jerk alive, which was the only reason Zack was risking fighting this monster. He’d read about these things, but never actually run up against one before. If he didn’t have to deal with Mr. Popsicle, he would’ve just run. Well, not really _run…_ he would have assessed his situation and then decided on a strategic retreat until back up arrived—which would be _never_ but no one had to know that.

“Get up and move!” He hissed, blocking another tentacle as the monster decided to try its luck with the least troublesome prey. His arm was throbbing, and his vision was starting to swim—side effects of the poison, was his only guess. “Come on! It’s either ShinRa or monster chow—what’s it gonna be?”

He had enough time to see the snow covered lump shudder at that before another of the tentacles came out of nowhere and knocked the wind out of him. The bitter chill of the air whistled around him as he went flying, smacking his side against the rocky overhang he’d been using to guard his back. He ended up half buried in the snow, vision blurring as the force of the hit caused his head to snap against the stone. Head injury mixed with poison wasn’t going to do him any favors.

Woozily Zack pushed himself up, just in time to see the green wrapped around a limp form, white lab coat easily visible between the green holding him captive. The scientist wasn’t even struggling as he was dragged closer to the gaping maw. It could be the cold, or the poison, or maybe the scientist had taken Zack’s remark to heart and chosen monster chow.

Was ShinRa so bad that he’d rather be torn apart by those teeth than return?

 _Not on my watch._ That was another thing Zack hated, watching people die if he could do something about it.

He searched blindly through the snow. His buster sword had been knocked from his hand, but it was too heavy to travel far. The cold and wet was seeping through his gloves, and the tips of his fingers were beginning to go numb. Damn the status effects. It seemed forever as he was rooting through the snow before his gloved hand curled around a smooth glassy surface that could only be materia. It must have been knocked loose from his sword—but at this point it was the only sort of defense he had.

He grabbed it and forced his magic through it, bringing it up to point it toward the monster. He was surprised to find it glowing a bright angry-red in his palm—he didn’t _own_ any summon materia!

Usually summons came out with a bang—maybe some lightning or earth-shattering roar or something similar—but this one seemed to be taking its sweet time. The orb was still glowing, and Zack could feel it siphoning away his magic reserves, but the time dilation hadn’t kicked into effect yet. The lump of a scientist was still moving closer to the gaping jaws, the snow still fell; the wind still howled—wait.

He could hear the wind, feel it as it sent tiny shards of ice against any exposed skin, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything to the snow.

Now that he looked at it, that wasn’t really falling and he was starting to doubt it was even snow anymore. The previously icy flakes were taking on a blue tint, and were hanging around the battlefield like the morning mists over the swamps. A mist that seemed to grow exponentially thicker, almost to the point where Zack couldn’t see much more than a hulking shape where the green monstrosity was moment ago.

He only hoped this summon slowed down time like most other he’d used otherwise that scientist had long since been monster chow.

Zack tried this arm. He could move, though it was an excruciatingly slow process—too slow to even be a result of the status he’d been afflicted with—and Zack took it as a bright light of hope that he’d gotten the summon off in time to stop the scientist’s impending doom. His fingers, unsurprisingly, refused to release the materia despite how hot it was getting. That had to be why they’d invented slots. Zack had never used an unsocketed materia before.

He dragged himself to his feet, inch by agonizing inch. The mist seemed to waiting, and Zack could distinctly feel as if time was holding its breath.

Then it exhaled. He could feel something snap, and Zack nearly toppled over as his limbs felt a thousand times lighter. A huge gust of wind roared through the silence, gathering the mist together and up. It consolidated into a shape that Zack could only liken to the wolves that hung around the wastelands outside of Midgar, although this one had waaay too many tails. He counted at least five before something distracted him. Out of this cloud came a hand, a clawed hand, followed by an arm, and then a body.

For a summon creature it was surprisingly human, Zack thought in a daze. Maybe he should consider getting Sephiroth some ears and a tail for the next costume party he managed to drag him to. It might be fun to watch his superior try to fend off the ladies—and a few men at _least_ —especially if the general made half as pretty a picture as this.

Zack, unlike many of his fellow SOLDIERS, was very much a fan of the fairest sex. Brown hair, kind smiles, and the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen had already snared his heart and held it quite captive. But he could definitely admit his superior was quite the looker—though he’d never admit it out of the sanctity of his own head.

This guy however, was downright gorgeous. That was really the only way to describe it. Taller even then Sephiroth, with a slim, lanky build with just enough tone to hint at muscles but not too much. Sephiroth-length silver hair was somehow easy to see against the backdrop of white snowfields and dissipating mist, ears perched within the strands like a cats, furred a lighter silver, almost white. One swiveled in his direction, though otherwise the summon was examining its claws, not paying him any mind.

With the mist gone Zack could see his target again, and the monster remained frozen in time—and likely would remain that way until the attack was initiated. Messing with summons was messing with a lot of things even the white coats of ShinRa didn’t understand. There were _rules_ to them, and they’d been drilled into Zack’s head during training. The summon made the first move, and it would always go after the target it was pointed at. Zack hoped this was a single target summon—he needed that scientist back alive.

A movement had Zack’s attention swiveling back to the summon. It appeared to be finished with its examination—or not, it was running a hand though its hair now, producing what appeared to be…a flower? It was red as blood and not one he’d ever seen before, held tenderly between clawed fingertips. Head turning, silver waves shifting, and piercing gold bore right through him. Lips pulled back, revealing too sharp canines in a fanged smirk. Zack froze.

_Why is it looking at me!? I’m not the target—That’s not what is supposed to happen—_

_…wow. It can_ move.

The speed of the motions flared silver hair like a comet’s tail, trailing behind and served to mark its path as the summon jumped from frozen tentacle to suddenly unfrozen tentacle, something long and green –where’d the flower go—and wickedly sharp cut through the massive knot and severed the bunch holding the science geek from the main mass.

Free at last, the monster screamed. It was the predator here, unmatched on the snowy plains it called its home. Its only match were the dragons, and this little bug was no dragon.

Torn and tattered labcoat dropped to the snow, the fall not quite long enough to kill but the guy would be hurting in the morning. And that green whip—which was really the only way to describe it—proceeded to take the monster apart. A slash here took a mess of poisoned tipped limbs out of the fight, and a clawed swipe took out some more.

Soon all that was left was the center mass, lying on the ground, twitching in the snow. The summon stood before the gaping mouth, whip wound in a loop around one hand, the other lowering a clawed finger to green flesh.

With a pitiful moan it began to shrink, green becoming smaller and smaller as it folded in on itself. Zack watched with amazement as it before too small for him to make out, lost in the drifts of snow. The summon bent down—where’d the whip go?—clawed hands drawing something out of the snow—

Aaand Zack suddenly had a facefull of silver hair, gold eyes and a fanged smirk.

“Ack!” Zack managed to keep the vocalization to a minimum, taking an involuntary step back that led to a wobbly near tumble. This was going against everything he’d learned about offensive summons. They did not interact with anything other than their targets—heck, Zack had never even had one acknowledge his existence other than taking his mana unless it was trying to squash him out of existence.

Without a word—summons didn’t talk. Talking would mean they were alive and sentient and _not_ residual memories left behind in materia like the scientists thought and Zack really didn’t want to think about _that_ little box of Touch Me frogs—one of the clawed hands touched his chin, tilting it upwards, and Zack didn’t dare to move. He’d seen those claws take out a monster that had taken a few swipes with his _sword_ to cut, and they were _right next to his throat—_

He found his gaze caught in amused gold as the face came closer and closer—oh Bahamut’s wings was it going to _kiss him!?_

Something touched his lips, but unless the summon felt like a leaf, he’d been quite wrong about what was coming. He opened one eye warily, to see silent laughter in those gold eyes and a strange red-purple leaf in front of his nose. Zack went cross-eyed looking at it, and eliciting a wider smirk.

The leaf was sort of rolled into a half tube, a deep amber liquid rolling down the surface toward his lips. Instincts told him not to trust it, but the warmth radiating from the materia said otherwise.

The moment it slid down his throat, the constricting feeling in his chest loosened. The throbbing in his arm lessened, and all the other status he’d picked up from the monster’s Bad Breath seemed to be washed away. A quick glance at his arm revealed that the angry black lines of poison were lightening, returning to healthy pink as he watched.

“Nifty trick, one hit cure all Remedy.” Zack muttered, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms now that those wicked claws weren’t directly next to his jugular. The summon was watching him, obviously amused. Then it tilted its head, an ear swiveling to listen to something Zack couldn’t hear. A flick of the hair and a cheery wave was all Zack got before it dissolved into blue mist. Zack felt the magic in the materia fade away right before the mist got blown away by the searing cold as the normal weather blasted through.

Brrr…Zack rubbed at his bare arms, searching the snow for his sword. The Sword was the was one with Esuna on it, although as soon as he got back he was planning to switch it and Heal to his bracer. Losing it kind of put him in a pickle there. He was just lucky his accessory protected against silence or he would have been screwed there.

The summon materia was still glowing, though it was getting progressively dimmer, and Zack slipped it absently into an empty spot in his bangle. ShinRa’s policy with Materia was usually Finder’s Keepers except when it came to summons.

\--

“Oi you damn fox, where the hell did you go?” The first thing he was greeted with was a raging Detective, as per usual. The demons they had been fighting littered the battlefield. Literally in pieces. Hiei must have been unusually agitated today for them to be cut into such small segments. Cool green eyes finished the survey, and landed on the Detective again. Hmm, the truth was rather outrageous even for them, so playing dumb was the best option.

“Whatever do you mean Yuusuke?”

The Detective scoffed, waving his arms around in that excitable way of his, voice getting louder as the words didn’t create a reaction.

“One second we were fighting and then BAM, gone. Even HIEI was worried when he couldn’t find you with the Jagen.”

The fire demon just crossed his arms and grunted, looking anywhere but at him. That was actually rather sweet, and would explain the demon bits. Still, he wasn’t even certain what had happened. Momentary delusion, perhaps. It was possible he’d been hit with one of the demon’s special abilities.

“I’ve been here the whole time, Yuusuke. You must have been imagining things.” Unperturbed, the redhead ran a hand through his hair, doing a quick inventory of all his seeds. He needed to make sure he hadn’t lost any in the scuffle. He was just about to decide on all accounted for when his fingers brushed against an unfamiliar one. Curious, he loosened the roots holding it in place and pulled it out, inspecting it in the fading light.

It shone a dull green, and was slightly prickly to the touch. He prodded it with his youki, the power returning an extremely strong feeling of _poisonous_ and a hunger for flesh that rivaled even that of his death tree.

“Oi Fox, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course.” Not really. Tucking it back in his hair, Kurama joined his fellow detectives, all the while thinking back to snow covered plains and that black haired man.


	2. Protocol

 

“You seem cheery for someone who just failed his mission.”

Those words were the first to greet him as Zack stepped off the elevator and onto the SOLDIER floor. Any other day he would have been bristling at the implication that he could fail, because Heroes couldn’t fail and Zack was going to be a Hero, but as it was he was far more fascinated by the red materia sitting innocently in his palm. He was just a Second, only first could check out summon materia from the company stores. He’d used them of course, but only in training. He’d never held on to one for this long before. Most other materia went quiet when not being used, but this one was still warm. Still alive and sparkling. “Eh, the guy was alive, if a poisoned popsicle. I’d say it went well.”

He grinned up at his mentor, easily picking out Angeal’s bulky form leaning against the wall. Zack was still giddy that Angeal had picked _him_ to work with personally out of all the other Seconds, so he could put up with jabs at his abilities if he had to.

“ _Your_ opinion doesn’t go on record, you know.” In two steps Angeal was next to him, and strong fingers were fluffing his hair. As much as he was expecting it, Zack still responded with an indignant “Hey!” but the force of his glare was completely negated by the grin on his face.

“What’ve you got here Zack? Spoils of war?” Angeal noticed the glittering orb in Zack’s hand, and he released the Second in order to get a better look. Zack uncurled his fingers, and the bright hallway lights had the orb sending red reflections onto the surrounding walls.

“I found it in the snow! If it weren’t for this guy our popsicle would have been monster chow.” Zack beamed. Angeal hummed in response, plucking it out of Zack’s grasp to inspect it. The orb flared under Angeals’ magical probing.

“I’m not familiar with this one. The magic feels strange.” Angeal popped a second summon materia out of his bangle, holding one in each hand. Zack noticed the difference immediately.

“It’s smaller. And brighter.” Next to Angeal’s materia, Zack’s shown like a small sun. Granted it wasn’t very bright in itself, but the larger materia’s glow was much fainter, nothing more than a glimmer.

“Correct.” Angeal tossed it back, counting on Zack to catch it, “Your homework is to figure out why that might be. Now get on over to the Materia Department. They’ll decide if you can keep it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zack grumbled, waving his empty hand, “Man. Homework already? And it’s _book work_. Slave driver.”

Zack heard Angeal chuckle, and once Zack was out of his sight the SOLDIER got rid of his pouting look. Angeal’d been kinda down recently since his best friend had been deployed to Wutai. Zack didn’t know Genesis well, nor was he particularly keen to get to know him. The rumor mill pointed toward him being a rather difficult person to get along with.

But he was Angeal’s friend, and Zack could understand that.

Soon he reached his destination, and the red lettering announcing the Materia Department slid into the wall as Zack stepped through the automatic door. He hadn’t been in here much. Only Firsts had access to the Materia Fusion aspect of the lab, and the only reason the rest of the SOLDIERs would be here was to turn in Materia. Summon materia were the only kind required by company policy to be handed over for analysis, and those were extremely rare.

The department was smaller. Much smaller than he’d expected. It was a single room with a row of machines along the back wall. He could only guess they had something to do with Materia fusion, and that the main bulk of the diagnostic equipment was squirreled away in a main lab somewhere else. Sections in the corners of the room were walled off, and Zack could see even more machines inside along with a few lab coats. There were a handful of the science geeks in attendance, and one looked up at his arrival, taking in the color of his uniform, “You aren’t authorized for materia fusion, SOLDIER.”

“I know, I know.” Zack ignored the annoyed look the scientist was giving him in favor of fishing out his summon again. He had to bite back a snicker as the scientist went from disinterested to focused curiosity upon seeing the red orb. Zack actually wanted to liken it to a look he’d seen one of his comrades give a chocobo after they hadn’t gotten anything to eat in a week. “Found this. Policy says it has to go through you guys first, yeah?”

The scientist snatched it up with just a mumbled affirmative, and the summon glimmered from the now familiar probing tendril of magic. He saw the guy’s eyebrow rise, before the scientist turned immediately to the computer. A form was pulled up, and he started to input identifying numbers for the materia. At some point he remembered Zack, “Name and rank, SOLDIER?”

“Zack Fair. Second.”

A dismissing wave, “We’ll be in touch.”

Zack wasn’t an idiot, he knew a dismissal when he heard one. “D’ya want me to send the combat data later?”

“Yes. Fine. Good.” The ‘Leave’ was implied, but the scientist obviously wasn’t paying attention to him anymore. Zack just laughed and let himself out. Since he hadn’t actually fought the summon his data wasn’t complete, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to offer.

“Zack! What’re you doing here?” He was assaulted as soon as the door slid shut, and Zack took in the purple uniform, standard helmet, and normal issue broadsword. Despite having absolutely nothing identifying about the Second class, Zack knew exactly who it was. “Heya Kunsel! I just had to drop off something. What’re you up to?”

“What’d you find? A war prize? Did your target make off with one of the new prototypes?”

“Nah. I just picked up. Probably fell out of someone’s bangle—it’s smaller than usual so it could’ve slipped out.”

“Might be a baby materia. The science department released a report a while back about the growth rates of natural materia. Apparently it takes a long time for them to reach the standard sizes. It’s all extremely interesting, you know? If you did find a natural materia you probably won’t get it back for a while—the science department is currently doing a bunch of trials with them.”

“Nuts.” Then Zack remembered the homework Angeal gave him, and that Kunsel was a walking talking encyclopedia, and suddenly grinned, “Hey Kunsel, wanna go for a beer? I want to pick your brain.”

\--

Time passed without any word from the Materia department—not even a thank you when he sent in his combat data—and Zack had pretty much resigned himself to never getting his summon back. He’d talked to a few of the other SOLDIERs, and the science department had a tendency to ‘lose’ things that they had an interest in. It made him unhappy of course, and he’d complained many times about it to Kunsel over drinks, but he didn’t have the political pull to do anything about it. Angeal might, being a First Class, but Zack didn’t want to use him like that.

Zack let out a breath as the remains of the simulation dissolved around him. He’d been stuck on training missions since the Marlboro incident. He still didn’t understand why that was deemed a failure. The fugitive was frostbitten, and poisoned, but Zack hadn’t been the one who dragged him out into the middle of the glacier and nearly gotten himself eaten by a monster. That was his own damn fault.

Annoyed, Zack hit the restart button, closing his eyes as the scene changed, the drab grey lines of the training room dissolving into the dark of the slum’s night. He heard a train whistle in the background. Slightly startled, Zack found himself perched in the steel rafters below the plate. This wasn’t the sim he’d had it set on. He’d been hunting monsters in the Mideel forest—someone had to have changed it.

Zack snapped his phone open when it started to go off. “Yeah?”

“Pop quiz, Zack.” Angeal’s voice drifted over the line. Well, if his mentor was behind all this, there wasn’t much he could do about it. “You are in Sector Seven. There is a breech in security and Wutai Infiltrators have hijacked a train and are heading for the Station. What do you do?”

The train whistle sounded again. “Gotcha.”

Directed missions were a lot more fun because it was controlled by someone instead of a pre-programmed script. It was more lifelike, and just all together less mind-numbingly dull. It also gave Zack some leeway in how to actually do the mission, since the director could compensate for his insane stunts.

He stowed his PHS in its harness instead of his pocket, and listened for the train whistle again. If this were real, he’d need to get moving _fast._

With the smile that Angeal had called his “stupid grin” Zack started running, the simulated wind streaming through his hair. Soon there was nothing before him, and a spring from mako powered muscles sent him soaring through the air, timing it just as the hijacked train passed by below him.

He spread out his body to slow the fall enough to quickly shift positions in the split second before smashing face first into moving metal. The gambit worked and he landed on his feet instead, settling into a crouch, fingers finding handholds to keep him in place.

In Midgar, nothing was faster than the trains.

\--

The first thing Zack heard when the simulation cut out was “You Failed.”

“Hey!” Zack cried out indignantly, waving his broken broadsword at his mentor’s frowning form, “I woulda been just fine if you hadn’t thrown Sephiroth in there! Wasn’t the behemoth enough? What gives anyway? He’s on our side.”

Angeal looked unruffled, instead moving forward to poke Zack in the forehead, “Sephiroth isn’t some kind of God. It is completely possible you might have to fight someone of his power at some point or another. Besides, you are the one who wishes to become a First Class. Who do you think _we_ train with?”

Zack paled at the thought. Just fighting Sephiroth’s data was as scary as a pack of Behemoths. Maybe more. But at the same time the idea thrilled him. Zack had always been of the opinion that in order to get stronger, he had to fight stronger opponents. Even so, Angeal had pulled a dirty trick on him, “Still! Throwing Sephiroth in after a freakin’ Behemoth?”

“Deal with it Zack. We must always be prepared for the unexpected, not to mention the unfair.” He let his hands fall to the side, and Zack was suddenly aware that Angeal was no longer looking at him, but through him, “War is never fair.”

Zack shifted uncomfortably. “Fine, fine. No more complaining. I’ll redo the simulation.”

Angeal snapped back, quirking his eyebrow with that half smile of his, “I’ve got something else in mind.”

It was the one that promised that Zack was not going to like what was happening next. He hoped it was squats. He hoped to every single possible existence of a higher being that it was just going to be squats. He didn’t really _like_ squats, but they were far preferable to some of Angeal’s training regiments, which could include random Sephiroth data popping up in a simulation and resulting in his sword breaking in _reality._ He still didn’t understand that.

The fluorescent training room lights glittered between Angeal’s fingers as something small and red was fished out of the pocket of his SOLDIER uniform. Zack soon had a grin splitting his face, and he snatched at the familiar, too-small summon materia now sitting in his mentor’s hand. He was going to get it back!

Except the grab met with empty air as Angeal’s even faster speed took the bauble out of reach. Zack pouted.

“You know the routine.” Angeal flipped open a consol in the control panel, opening the materia interface. It revealed a small depression, but even the normal-sized materia slot was too big for his runty summon. It settled in the bottom, and Zack wondered aloud if the machine could even read it, since really only the bottom surface of the materia was in contact with the reader. Angeal shrugged, “The Science Department released it for testing, so they must think so.” He chuckled, “I’m not one to second guess them in these matters.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zack waved his hand dismissively, “Fine, I’ll jump through the hoops. But could I at least get another sword?”

He waved the broken broadsword in the direction of the control booth, “I saw that summon fillet a Marlboro, could I at least go get a replacement?” He was not looking forward to blocking and parrying those whip strikes with a full length blade, much less halving his reach like this.

The last thing Zack saw before the room around him dissolved was Angeal smiling at him through the observation window, “You need to take better care of your equipment, SOLDIER.”

\--

Zack gripped the handle of his half-blade nervously as the simulated jungle built up around him. It was the same setting as his prior missions. Except the edges of the clearing were cordoned off with red dots—which made sense, it was a battle. Arena-style.

He waited nervously for the summon to appear—in all his previous sims they had already been here. Then again this was his first _actual_ summon. The others were all preloaded data used in training exercises. Maybe it took longer for the machine to read the materia?

Or maybe it wasn’t working. Maybe the machine couldn’t read it since it was abnormally smaller.

And just maybe the blue mist rolling in from between the trees was just his imagination.

_‘Data loaded ‘_

The words flashed in front of his eyes and Zack could no longer put off the fact that he had to fight that crazy summon with a _broken sword_.

Since this wasn’t a real battle, none of the time dilation kicked in. The mist didn’t take quite so long to form, and soon dissipated to reveal the very same figure that Zack had watched slice a Marlboro into hundreds of tiny pieces all those months ago. He saw those gold eyes land on him, and was that a—smirk?

He shoved away his nervousness and fell into a fighting stance, the same one he would use if his sword were not a broken wreck. He saw the summon quirk an eyebrow at his battle stance, and was that a laugh? It was! It was laughing at him. There was no sound of course, but the summon’s shoulders were shaking, those golden eyes lidded, and silver ears twitched along with the silent laughter. Zack pouted, even the summon was picking on him.

“Hey!” He found himself shouting, waving his broken sword around in indignation, forgetting for a moment that he was fighting a beast of pure magic, “It’s not funny! This repair is gonna come out of my paycheck!”

Then he remembered, there was no use talking to a summon. He ran a hand through black spikes, mussing them up out of irritation. Angeal must be wondering what was going on to take so long. It was weird. Why wasn’t the summon attacking him? He knew it had both offensive and support capabilities—he WELL remembered the much appreciated Esuna -like effect , so maybe it would respond to aggressive motions?

After a few moments that consisted of Zack waving his sword like an idiot, the summon finally got tired of laughing. It flicked an ear dismissively at him, instead prowling toward the edge of the clearing. It lingered near the edges of the zone, testing the barrier that was the edges of the arena. Zack ended up leaning against a tree, tapping his foot impatiently as he was completely ignored for the next ten minutes.

“Zack!” Angeal’s voice sounded in the clearing. The summon stopped in its examination of a particularly large fern, turning those narrowed gold eyes skyward, searching for the source. Zack had never seen a summon act like this before. “What’s taking so long? Even your time for Bahamut was better.”

“Turn on the display. It isn’t my fault.” Zack groused, arms crossed petulantly, the broken end of his sword stabbed into the grass-covered earth beside him, “It doesn’t seem interested in me.”

“Perhaps the materia’s abnormal size is messing with the targeting matrix.” The summon was eyeing Zack now, and he was starting to feel…uncomfortable under the heavy scrutiny. He wasn’t worried, if the simulation had gone on this long, the summon had no intention of attacking him, but…it was so weird. Unnerving. He could _read_ the summon. Not easily. But the fact that he recognized the blatant _curiosity_ in that silent mannerisms…Summons didn’t _do that._

Then again, when was the last time he’d fought against, or even _with_ a summon so human looking? The closest thing he could think of was Shiva, and the ice queen might as well have been _made_ out of ice for the amount of emotion that she showed. Which was none. She had been the example his instructor had used during materia class.

 

 _“See this?”_ _They had a guest instructor today. Every eye in the room was riveted on the young man in red who slowly stalked around the frozen woman he’d just called into being. Genesis Rhapsedos was without a doubt the most skilled Materia master in the SOLDIER program, “This, is a summon. Such perfect beings. Lovely. Powerful. Gifts from the Goddess to those with the luck, or ability to wield her most powerful weapons.”_

 _“But she looks so human!” At first Zack thought the exclamation had come from one of the other spellbound cadets. It certainly hadn’t been_ him. _But the voice shifted, returning to Genesis’ own tones with the ease of a well practiced actor. Of course. The rumor mill said Genesis was obsessed with some sort of theatre performance, “I’m sure the thought has crossed your innocent little minds once or twice. ‘She looks so human, what can she do to me?’”_

 _He didn’t release the attention, a hand raising, pointing to where he’d set up a target along the training room wall. In the blink of an eye, the summon shifted. Her frozen face did not slip from the emotionless mask as she brought an arm around, ice crystals forming in the air as the temperature in the room dropped to freezing. Zack flinched as they sliced through the space between her and the target, a resounding_ crack _filling the room as the specialized magic-target was frozen solid._

_Genesis waved a dismissive hand, and the summon shattered, the perfect image dissolving into splintered ice shards, and then even those faded to nothing. The bright red glow in his bracer died. The ice covered target remained._

_“_ That _is what a summon can do. If one of you got a hold of the materia, you could even make her do_ that _to me.” An amused smirk twisted his lips at the excited murmurs his words caused among the cadets, “Of course, that assumes you cadets had the strength to summon her in the first place. A summon will fight for you, but should you lose their materia, they would turn on you in a heartbeat. They are jealously guarded—for who wants their weapons turned against them…?”_

Weapons. They were just weapons. Not human. Not even human- _like_. Most summons were like Bahamut, more monster than human looking.

Not…like this.

“I’m ending the simulation.” Angeal’s voice came over the speakers again, and Zack let out an irritated sigh. Another failure. “There’s no point in wasting more time if it won’t battle you…”

If Zack hadn’t been watching the summon’s face carefully, he wouldn’t have noticed the slight widening of those eyes. The realization dawning. Or even the wide smirk that broke the otherwise cool expression.

“Angeal stop!” He shouted, diving for his sword just as something _fast_ and green tore into the ground where he’d just been standing, leaving a gash deep in the tree he’d just been leaning against. He rolled, the forward momentum dislodging the loose grip the simulated earth had on the broken blade, and when he was upright, he immediately fell into a fighting stance, his too short blade between him and the summon. It was standing nonchalantly, the long green vine-like whip coiled around clawed fingers. Eergh. Were those _thorns?_ He hadn’t been able to see well in the middle of a blizzard.

“Start the time now.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that smirk clearly said, “ _Why didn’t you just say so?”_

_x-x-x_

Kurama waited patiently for that strange energy to release its hold on his youki, remembering the strange not-quite-there feeling from the last time he’d seen the black-haired young-man. Once he settled in his own body, in his own bed, he allowed himself to sigh in relief, that weird unfamiliar energy draining away and returning to wherever it came from.

A quick glance at his alarm revealed the glowing numbers to be closer to dawn than he remembered, but at least this time the summons hadn’t come while he was otherwise occupied. He’d noticed the strange tugging in time, and had excused himself from dinner to study. Vanishing from the dinner table would have been rather hard to explain, especially since he _didn’t_ quite understand what was going on himself.

Kurama’s hand drifted to his hair, specifically to a strange seed that was currently rooted just below his more lethal arsenal. He hadn’t been able to find a match for it, even among the blood-thirsty flora that infested the Makai. It seemed akin to the man-eaters related to the Death Tree, but with a poison so toxic Kurama was surprised the black-haired man had been able to survive, even with Kurama having been careful to administer his home-bred anti-venom.

He thought back to the first summons. The way that strange magic had clamped down on his. How it smothered sound before it could drift beyond intention. How his attention had been invariably drawn to the giant demon plant, even as he’d been more interested in the man collapsed in the snow…

It hadn’t been until he’d defeated the monster that he’d been able to satisfy his curiosity about the man, and the curiously glowing orb clenched in frozen fingers. He’d felt the magic moving, mixing with his youki as he’d grown his plant, becoming something…more. Something that had cured the frighteningly toxic poison where Kurama was sure nothing else could.

This last time hadn’t been like that. There’d been no danger when he’d felt the mist clear. No target. No monster. Just the black-haired young man, brandishing a broken sword.

The magic still smothered his words, but the grip was looser, letting him satisfy his curiosity. The world around them had felt…odd. He couldn’t sense any of the plants, even as a veritable jungle seemed to surround them. There were no scents. Nothing beyond a strange, sharp, clean smell that he could only describe as _Life._

It was the same smell his body was covered in now, and it would linger. Hiei had complained about it for _days_ last time…

“It happened again.”

Really, Kurama should have expected this. He sighed, shifting on the bed until he found the small fire-demon sitting in his now open window. “Whatever do you mean, Hiei?”

“Don’t play dumb, fox. Not with me.” Those red eyes were narrow, and Kurama could even see the faint glow of the Jagan through the white bandana, “I felt your energy vanish. I _saw_ you return.”

Of course. He had asked Hiei to keep an eye out since he’d first started feeling the tugs. They’d begun shortly after that first abrupt summon however many weeks ago. “How long?”

“Hours.”

He hadn’t been in the strange simulation with—what had the disembodied voice called him? Zack?—Zack for that long, he was certain of that. It had taken about half an hour before he realized they were supposed to battle—and really, why hadn’t he just said that in the first place? It wasn’t like Kurama could read _minds.—_ and the following battle had taken another ten, twenty minutes at most. An hour tops.

But both the clock and Hiei’s words disproved that fact, obviously there was some sort of time dilation going on. The first time he’d been barely gone ten minutes, now it was a few hours?   “What did you see?”

“I don’t _know.”_ Hiei’s admission startled the fox—the fire demon’s gaze was murderous, his bandaged fist clenched around the hilt of his katana. He hadn’t realized Hiei would take failure this personally. “Your youki distorts strangely during the tugging—and then gone. Like mist.”

“Well…” Kurama shrugged, “At least it doesn’t appear to be harmful. It is irritating, yes, but so long as I’m careful, these…episodes shouldn’t impact much.”

“And if one happens during a fight?” Hiei growled, “One where we _need_ you? Not like that trash when it first happened.”

“I’m sure a powerful A-class demon such as yourself can hold out long enough for me to return.” Kurama smiled pleasantly. Hiei’s irritated huff drifted through the room even after he’d departed. Most likely going to go sulk in one of the surrounding trees. Kurama nonchalantly detached the strange seed from its place and rubbed it thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. He really should be more worried about this whole thing. Something was randomly plucking him out of his life, and throwing him onto another plane, with irritating restrictions that oddly reminded him of what human fiction depicted demon-summoning to be. But…

There was _power_ there. A single seed contained a plant a thousand times more deadly than any the Makai had ever spawned. With the added magic, his healing herbs had grown exponentially in potency. Perhaps if he returned one to a seed before leaving, would it still retain the extra power?

Living as Suuichi Minamino for so long might have tempered his demon’s desires, but Youko Kurama still craved power. If this whole situation became too inconvenient, he would go to Koenma. He was sure the godling could find a way to dislodge the grasp of that strange magic. But until then…

He replaced the seed and swiftly got ready for bed. He’d already lost much of the night, and he had school tomorrow.

He thought back to the conclusion of the fight. To the sweat soaked young man, the one who’d managed to survive the poison. The one who’d managed to keep up with a speed that human should not be able to. Who hit as hard as Yuusuke. Whose eyes glittered with an inner light Kurama found both compelling and _curious_.

Things were just getting interesting.


	3. And So it Begins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the title--I like it much better now. This is now less of a drabble series and more of a full story. It will follow Crisis Core's plot fairly closely, but I reserve the right to make changes to settings / backstory since I haven't played the game in at least a couple years. 
> 
> If you do not see a version of events here, assume it happened fairly close to how the original did. I'm not here to rewrite that whole confusing game x_x
> 
> Updates will (hopefully) be posted either every Monday or Friday -- I haven't decided yet. Probably Monday. This story will eventually become a multi-crossover--Summon Materia Shenanigans work quite well for that, no? 
> 
> Oh, and there are no pairings. Well. Except canonical ZackxAeris/th I suppose. Any awkward situations are purely for entertainment value.

“Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT! Watch where you swing that thing!”

The words spilled from Zack as he rolled away from the oncoming punch. The ground shook with the impact as a giant fist smashed through the wooden flooring, and possibly even cracking the stone foundation beneath it. Were these things the supposed Anti-SOLDIER weapons Lazard had mentioned in the briefing? He wished he’d paid more attention.

He’d already taken out two of the beasts; this third one had managed to jump him while he’d been waiting for Angeal. They weren’t so bad—stronger, faster, and more resilient than normal monsters, and DEFINITLY stronger than the Wutai troops he’d managed to defeat with ease—but Zack was tiring. He let his momentum carry him to his feet, spinning around to put his standard-issue broadsword between himself and the monster. It felt lighter than his old one, strange in his grip, but there was no way he’d bring that broken piece of junk on such an important mission, even if he would have felt more confident with the weight and feel of that particular sword.

He could do this. He was Zack Fair, SOLDIER Second—no, soon to be FIRST—Class. Student of Angeal Hewley, and just overall nice guy and future HERO of ShinRa! No weird rampaging product of twisted Wutai science would bring him down! Especially not when he _knew_ this was an evaluation mission. He didn’t know how, but Lazard was watching.

He shifted his sword to one hand, throwing out the other to point at the charging beast. He felt the magic gather, the cast time eating up a few of his precious seconds before the heat in his hand signaled it was time.

“ _FIRA!”_ The fireball exploded in the monster’s face, and it shrieked in pain, only deviating slightly from its chosen trajectory. Luckily Zack slid out of the way with ease, returning his hand to the hilt and swinging as he did. His arms burned with the force as the blade pierced flesh, only his mako-enhanced strength allowing him to keep hold of the weapon as the monster’s own momentum tore a deep gash in its side.

“Oh yeah. The Marlboro was scarier than these guys.” He could feel the mako easing the strain in his muscles, healing up any damage his stunt had caused before it became an issue. The monster slowed, swaying on its feet and growling at him. Zack made a face back at it, “Yeah, I’m talking to you! An overgrown _daisy_ is scarier than _you_. I took down two of your friends, what makes you think _you_ can stop me?”

He waved vaguely at the two hulking corpses that were sprawled across the room, red mist just now beginning to stream from the bodies as they started to dissolve. He didn’t know if the monster could understand him, or if it just didn’t like his tone, but his attempts to goad the thing into another attack were successful. It charged at him, motions wild and frenzied, and Zack waited for it confidently. He needed to impress the Director after all—how better than to dodge at the last second and take its head off in one foul swoop? That was _sure_ to get him promoted to First Class!

Unfortunately, he either didn’t count on the burst of speed from the monster’s rage, or if he’d miscalculated his own ability to dodge in time. He began to move—but it was too late, the hulking bulk of the monster plowed into him. His sword wrenched from his hand, and sent skittering across the wooden covered floor—although it was more stone than wood now considering the damage done—and with it went most of his materia. His breath was knocked out of him as he was smashed to the ground, stunned—the monster roaring in triumph above him.

He struggled for air, but the huge hand pinned his chest. Squeezing. His lungs burned. His arms struggled against the muscle that was bigger than he was, scratching against it in vain. It didn’t matter how strong he was if he couldn’t get a hold.

This was it. He was going to die because he got too damn cocky and over confident. He wondered what Angeal would say when he got the news that Zack had been squeezed to death by an overgrown monkey. Probably that he should have done more upper body exercises. Squats were good, but leg strength was no use when there was nothing to kick—

Something glimmered in the torchlight. His bangle. His vision was dimming, but he wracked his sluggish brain to remember what the colored dots were supposed to be. Green. Green. Heal and Restore. He’d switched out his offensive materia for them after what happened with the Marlboro. Damn it. He _needed_ offensive right now, but that was on his _sword_. Which was across the _room._

Wait. There was one more. He grasped at the monster’s arm again, pulling himself up to try in vain to see over the edge of the monster’s thick hand. _Red._

He didn’t know the summon’s name. The scientists hadn’t been able to figure it out. How could he cast the spell if he didn’t know the _name?_

_I did it before._

It had been in a fit of desperation that he’d managed the summon last time. This was as close to the same circumstances as he would get. He gathered up his magic and shoved it at the materia, praying to _anything_ and everything (except perhaps the Wutaian Leviathan) that it would work.

The pressure eased slightly, the monster readjusting its grip on its captive. Zack gulped in some much needed air while he could, screwing his eyes shut as he was picked up off the ground. And up. He knew if he opened his eyes he would only see the monster’s twisted face. Was it going to _eat_ him?

The pressure intensified, crushing the air out of his lungs again. It got tighter and tighter, Zack’s mind beginning to drift, detaching himself from the pain.

And then…it stopped.

One peak. And then another. The monster was frozen. Blue mist caressed the monster’s bulky shoulders. It solidified into an achingly familiar silver-haired humanoid, those golden eyes taking in the target, and then lowering to observe Zack’s predicament. A silver brow arched, lips twisting into a familiar smirk.

Summons could be verbally commanded. But Zack didn’t have the breath, or the strength of mind to do that. Will worked just as well. Zack had only had one thought as he called the being into existence.

 _It wasn’t the best order_ , Zack thought, as his vision dimmed, the last thing he saw was the green whip appearing in the summon’s hand, _but it’ll have to do._

_x-x-x_

When Zack came to, he was on the ground. But it wasn’t completely hard ground. His head was pillowed on something soft, even if he could feel the splintered wooden floor jabbing into his ribs.

“Z—k”

Sounds. Something was making sounds. He tried to focus on it.

“—ack”

It sounded familiar. A voice?

“Zack!”

His name? Who would be calling his name?

“Zack! If you are in there, by all that is holy, wake up and call off this thing before I get _eaten.”_

_Angeal!?_

That commanding tone was the same one Angeal issued his orders with, one that Zack was used to snapping to attention at. If Angeal said jump, Zack would be the first out the window.

Except…perhaps right now. He might take a few minutes.

Everything hurt. He was hyper aware of the mako burning more and more of his energy, healing the damage oxygen deprivation and extreme pressure had done to his body. But he forced himself closer and closer to being conscious. Angeal was in trouble.

Forcing his eyes open was no easy task. There hadn’t been a lot of light in this old dojo in the first place, and a few of the torches had been extinguished during the battles, but what was there stung at his eyes, sending his head throbbing at the sensory overload. His vision cleared of the multicolored spots and bleariness, revealing a curtain of silver and curious golden eyes.

His head was pillowed on something soft. If the summon’s face was right _there—_ and what was it doing here still? He thought the spell ended upon KO!—was he lying in its _lap!?_

He flinched away and moved to say something—what he wasn’t sure. An apology? A question? Girlish shrieking?—but the summon lightly pressed a clawed finger to his lips, silencing the words before they could even form from coherent thought. Gently, with a careful precision that kept those razor sharp claws from doing more than pricking him, the summon helped him into a seated position, allowing Zack’s wide confused eyes to see what had happened during his brief stint in unconsciousness.

They were safe, snug as a bug in a rug, within a cage—or shelter?—of red bark. They appeared to be trees, twisted gnarled trees, grown over and through each other to form a sturdy, almost completely opaque cocoon around their summoner. But there were small gaps between the thin trunks, just enough to see that they weren’t just any trees. And it wasn’t just any shelter.

The trunks that made up the walls were mostly stationary, but they flexed and sighed as the branches furthest from the main mass moved. Zack couldn’t see what it was, not until an achingly familiar blade dug deep into the mass and ripped it open, the trunks weeping sap like a wound would blood. The sticky residue clung to the edge of the Buster Sword, and the trunks began to heal themselves the moment the sword was removed. But in that moment, Zack could see through the hole. Could see his mentor—who _never_ used that sword. Would _never_ dirty his family’s heirloom—fighting off _moving trees._ They seemed to be the same as the trunks surrounding them, only they had gaping jaws at the end, mouths full of razor sharp fangs—all aiming straight at his _mentor._

 _“_ STOP!” Zack shouted, pulling out of the summon’s grip. He turned terrified eyes on the calm silver-haired summon, who merely looked at him curiously, an eyebrow raised. Expectant.

“He’s a friend!” Zack didn’t know why he was explaining this, but the words tumbled out. It wasn’t like the summon cared. It was just reacting to his orders. _Help me._ “I’ll be fine now—thank you. For saving me. Protecting me.”

He felt for his magic. Now that he was looking, he could feel the materia _still_ drawing on it. He’d have to end the flow himself. Strange. Most materia only took as much as it needed and then stopped. Had it been like this the first time? He didn’t remember.

He cut off the flow of magic. The materia on his bangle dimmed, from a small sun to a shadow of its former glory. The summon’s eyes were locked on the stone, and then raised its head, meeting Zack’s confused gaze with a calculating one of its own. Then to Zack’s surprise, he shrugged, dissolving into blue mist as if to say, “ _If you say so.”_

The strange cage of trees followed suit, collapsing into the same mist and drifting away on an unseen breeze. He still hurt, everywhere, but he felt he owed it to Angeal to struggle to his feet, hunched over bruised—perhaps broken ribs—and limp across the dojo to his mentor. He cracked a smile as Angeal leaned against the Buster Sword, breathing heavily as neither of them spoke.

 

“W-wasn’t it important that you didn’t use that sword?”

Angeal blinked, his eyes traveling from Zack’s face to the sap covered sword.

“Well.” The First sighed, forcing himself to straighten and re-attach the sword to the magnet on his harness, “Your life is more important. Just a little. I didn’t know what happened to you.”

Zack’s chest felt warm. He beamed, doing a little dance despite his injuries, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Angeal called back, already walking toward the door, “I’m going to make you _clean it_.”

x-x-x

At first Kurama didn’t notice the tugging. He’d made it to school, and was currently sitting through his teacher droning about something or other. It was a faint shifting in his aura, his youki warning him as the seeking tendrils of magic began sniffing about. He frowned—so soon? The last three summonings had been days—even weeks apart. He’d already been plucked out of his walk to school this morning, without so much as a warning—and now here it was again? He rolled his eyes—raising his hand and catching the teacher’s attention.

“Yes, Minamino?”

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. May I be excused?”

He saw her eyes narrow—he knew he was pushing it. He’d ended up late for school because of the earlier episode, and she hadn’t forgotten it.

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait for lunch.” She settled for nodding at the clock before returning to the equations she’d been scratching onto the black board. Kurama sighed and cushioned his head on his hand, watching the seconds tick by. The tugging became more and more insistent—Kurama whimsically imagined his step-brother hanging onto his hand, wheedling and trying to get him to do something or other.

 _Sorry. Not this time._ He told the searching magic, shifting his youki to prevent the hooks from catching. He couldn’t afford to disappear in class. It wasn’t like this morning, or even the first summoning, where the magic crashed down onto him like a wave, snatching him up and away before he could so much as realize what was going on. It wasn’t as…insistent.

He could resist this pull, he realized. It was more like the summons for the simulated battle—not backed by the desperation of a life or death situation.

He was a little worried—he hadn’t left the young man in the greatest of shape earlier. He’d managed to heal the worst of his wounds—the potency of the magic combined with his healing herbs were astounding—and supposedly the black haired swordsman with the overly large weapon was a friend, but…

His youki flared as the magic brushed against it again—an insistent puppy whining at the door. It wasn’t the most…subtle way of saying no—Hiei would be demanding an explanation the moment he stepped near a window, and any demon above C-class would have felt that energy spike—but it got the magic to back off. He would have to keep an eye on it—if Zack truly were in danger, he had a feeling he wouldn’t have much choice in the matter.

Sooner or later he would work out the rules to these…summonings. But for now, he was pleased that he had _some_ free will as to whether or respond or not. He tried to focus on the teacher’s lecture—why did he bother with human school again? Anything he didn’t already know, he could easily pick up from texts.

Right. His mother. She didn’t know he was anything more than a normal, if gifted, human boy.

Maybe he should talk to her about testing out of high school…University had to be more interesting than this.

x-x-x

 

The huge beast-man collapsed to the ground at last, leaving a panting Zack amidst the wreckage of the battlefield. He winced in pain, focusing on the magic building in his hand as the green orb of his Restore Materia glowed in the silver metal of his bracer. His ribs were still sore, and even his enhanced mako-fueled healing wasn’t quite enough. Where was Angeal? Ifrit—wasn’t Ifrit Angeal’s summon? He remembered two red orbs, one large and dim, the other small and bright.

 _“Which summon do you have?”_ The voice drifted through Zack’s muddled mind, he focused on it, grabbing for the fragment before it could slip away. This conversation had only been a few days ago, as Angeal was going over the rules for Summon materia and their use in preparation for Zack’s summon being signed into his possession permanently.

_“Hmm? Oh, Ifrit. It’s one of the easier ones to summon. I’m afraid materia and its use isn’t my specialty, but Genesis insisted I take it. You never know when the extra fire-power could be useful, or even just as a diversionary tactic. Adding another participant to a battle can divide an enemy’s attention and give you an edge.”_

Was that why Ifrit had been summoned? Angeal had stayed behind to deal with those weird non-Wutai soldiers. This was definitely where the battle had taken place, the corpses of the ambushing soldiers were right over there. If he’d needed the summon as a diversion…

But then why had Ifrit attacked _him?_

Had Angeal lost control of the materia?

Zack clutched at his side, the restore spell glowing between his fingertips as he attempted to ease the pain and reinforce the cracked bones. The last thing he needed was them breaking now. Ifrit remained in a heap in the clearing, flames glowing faintly in the darkness—why wasn’t he being banished? Was the summoner still out there? Waiting? Zack’s summon—damn it he needed a name for it!—had stuck around even after the battle to protect him.

 _Angeal_.

What if Angeal was hurt? What if the summon was just doing what Zack’s had? Standing guard and protecting his summoner?

“ANGEAL! It’s me ZACK!” He called into the quiet night, ignoring the little voice that whispered that he was giving away his position. What if there were Wutai SOLDIERs about? Or more of those weird black-feathered ones?

“ANGEAL!”

The summon stirred. An animalistic groan had Zack whirling around as best he could with busted ribs. Ifrit was struggling to his feet, the flames flaring brighter and brighter as those red eyes narrowed on him. Zack froze, the restore spell dispersing as he went for his broadsword. It had taken everything he had to take it out the first time. His own summon materia remained quiet in his bangle—his attempt to summon it at the beginning of the battle had failed miserably. It was small—maybe he could only use it once per day? Whatever the reason, he couldn’t count on help from that quarter.

“C’mon big guy.” Zack taunted with a bravado he didn’t really feel, sucking up the pain and the aches—he had to, he was a SOLDIER. “You want round 2? I’ll give it to ya.”

He went for his Blizzard materia. It was his weakest one, but he didn’t think Fira would do much against Ifrit—

The spell fizzled in his grasp as the summon shattered to pieces, the residual glow from the dispersing magic tracing a red line along steel. Silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, but it was the calm, mako bright blue-green eyes that greeted him from beneath the bangs, not the gold he was half expecting.

Zack found his lips twisting into a pained grin, “Awesome—you took him out in one shot!”

Sephiroth didn’t dignify it with an answer. He knelt to the grass at the summon’s feet, picking up a small object that glimmered red in the moonlight. He studied the materia for a moment, before stowing it in the depths of his jacket. His attention shifted to the crumpled bodies of the black-feathered soldiers in the path. The distance was quickly eaten up by long strides, and Zack limped after the First class SOLDIER. Sephiroth knelt next to one of the corpses, pulling the helmet off to reveal the face beneath. Zack peered curiously over his shoulder, taking in the chin length red hair. Something about the face seemed familiar, but Zack couldn’t put his finger on it…

“Genesis.” Sephiroth’s flat voice cut through the silence.

“The missing SOLDIER?” Zack startled, and then looked closer. The only time he’d ever really interacted with the red-headed first had been during the handful of materia lessons he’d been a guest lecturer for. He’d seen him around, of course. He was Angeal’s best friend. And one of the three SOLDIER Elites, “What about the others—”

But Sephiroth was ahead of him, removing the helmets from the other fallen soldiers. It was the exact same face.

“Three of them?” Zack whispered, incredulous. He must have hit his head harder than he thought earlier. This was _insane_.

“Where is Angeal?” Zack jumped to attention as those cat-like eyes focused on him. Sephiroth had risen to his feet, leaving the dead bodies where they lay. Distantly, Zack noticed that he’d closed the eyes of the copies. “He was…supposed to be here. Fighting.” Zack shook his head, looking back down at the wounds on the corpses. Broken bones. Bruising. All indicators of Angeal’s favored hand-to-hand style, “When I came back to help him they were already dead and Ifrit jumped me.”

“Hmm.” Sephiroth didn’t say anything, dusting of the stray dirt and twigs clinging to his leather coat. He straightened, “Zack Fair. You did well holding off that summon despite your injuries. As the current field commander I am removing you from Angeal’s command. Return to base and report to the infirmary.”

“Sir!” Zack saluted his acknowledgment of the order, wincing as his sudden shift to parade position jarred his ribs. He turned to leave, but hesitated. “What did you mean? Removing me from Angeal’s command?”

Sephiroth’s gaze rose to meet his, and _held_ it. His face was hard, impassive, and his words seemed to drown out even the night noises of the forest when he spoke. “Angeal has betrayed us. That’s what it means. Now back to base.”

“Impossible!” The word tore out of his throat. Zack stopped, blushing when he realized he’d just shouted at his commanding officer now that he’d been removed from Angeal’s command chain, but he stood his ground. “Angeal would never _do_ something like that! You’re his friend—he values his honor too much to throw it away!”

_He would never betray me…_

He whirled around and stomped away. He knew he was being childish. He was a SOLDIER. He should act like it. But he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that Angeal—who preached so damn much about the value of SOLDIER honor and integrity—would betray them. It was ludicrous!

_Genesis is his best friend…_

_Ifrit attacked_ me.

Zack almost missed it.

“Would that I could believe that…”

He turned sharply at the whispered words, but Sephiroth was gone.

x-x-x


	4. Broken Wings

“Zack? Do you remember our promise…? That we’d fight against anything that torments this world?”

The words started soft, but they got clearer and clearer as Youko settled into this body of magic and mist. Everything was so sharp. Clear. The power flowed through him, the clean smell of _Life_ filled his senses, cradled his youki, his very _soul_ in its tender grasp. Even on his own, Youko was a force to be reckoned with. An S-Class demon without a doubt. But this…

He felt like he could take on the _world._

The detached after-effect of a summoning slowly faded, and Youko waited. Waited for the body to stabilize. For the magic to clamp down and point him toward his target. The world came into focus. A dim setting. Broken wood. Blood-red light from a setting sun filtering in through the slats. A warehouse of some sort. He could still smell the _Life._ But it was different now. Tainted. Sick. It was centered on the man standing at the focal point of the room. With a start, Youko realized he recognized him.

It was the black-haired swordsman. The one that had fought off his Death Tree. Zack’s friend with that overly large sword. How long had it been since that summon? Months? He looked different now, his hair greying, and single white wing folded limply at his side.

“I do.” And there was his summoner. Youko was floating behind him—he could only see Zack’s back. He wasn’t in purple anymore. He was in black. Black just like the other man. A uniform?

The boy didn’t seem to be aware of his presence yet. The summoning focus—the red orb Youko always seemed drawn to—was a bright spot amidst metal, glowing fiercely from the unfettered emotion whirling through Zack’s mind. Youko was pleased to see his theory that the summoning was based on some sort of emotional stimulus. That would explain why he could ignore some of them.

“But you’re wrong! You aren’t a monster!”

The man laughed. “I’ll _become_ the torment. I will show you what becomes of a SOLDIER’s pathetic honor.”

Well. This was unnecessarily dramatic. Youko drew the mists together, gathering his power in preparation for the battle ahead—and battle there would _be._ Monsters dropped from the ceiling—humanoid ones, bestial ones. A blubbering fat man was shoved away from the mass as they converged on the black-haired man with the twisted white wing.

_“Angeal!”_

The heartbreak and disbelief in the boy—and he _was_ a boy, looking like that—voice even pierced Youko’s calm center. The mist that was Youko’s soul surged protectively around him, startling him even as he did so. This was _his_ summoner. The magic’s command to protect, and Youko’s own instincts to jealously guard those he deemed as _his,_ warred with each other, before settling in tandem. The boy finally seemed to be aware of him, jumping back at the cold touch of the mist. His eyes were wide, but his jaw clenched, turning back to the growing mass of monster, “Don’t do this Angeal! I don’t want to fight you!”

It settled into an armored monstrosity. Even Youko hadn’t seen such a beast in his centuries wandering the Makai. The magic was finally settling, and he felt the mist solidifying into the humanoid kitsune form he was more familiar with. Despite his words, Youko could feel the boy’s conviction. His determination. It was the same way he’d known to protect him last time. The same way he’d known to save the scientist.

 _Some sort of mental link._ He made the note and then filed it away, pulling out the seed for his primary weapon. His rose whip. He didn’t know if the thorns would be sharp enough to pierce the beast’s armor. He would have attacked, but something was holding him back. _Wait._ It said.

“You say that.” The voice was twisted, ringing not from within the metal helmet, but the human face that was emblazoned unmoving on the beast’s armor. “But your hands go to your sword. You summoned your guardian before we even started.”

The ground shook, stone shattering beneath it as the butt of the trident stamped against the ground. Then it shot out, heading straight for where Zack was frozen in disbelief. Youko felt the will holding his waver, and he _moved_. His whip snapped, curling around the huge shaft. It strained, taut, stopping the trident’s advance. But it wasn’t aiming anywhere vital—the edge of the blade leaving a thin line of blood along Zack’s face. A message.

Youko jumped to the far side, making note of the fat man in a white coat scrambling out the door, and yanked on his whip, pulling the weapon away from Zack, who had finally drawn his sword.

“What happened to your pride?!” Zack was shaking now. In rage? In grief? Youko was too far away to see. He dropped his whip—the attack should have sliced the trident in half. It wasn’t good enough. The vine reverted to a seed as he withdrew his power. He took stock of his weapons, clawed fingers lingering on a specific one. It had vines of a sort… If he twisted his youki as it grew…

“A monster has no pride!”

Zack charged.

Youko’s whip snapped out, the thorns blood red, dripping venom. It tore through the monster’s armor. It roared—voice no longer human.

In the end, he didn’t have to worry about Zack hesitating. He was a soldier. He would do what needed to be done.

x-x-x

The battle was over. Youko returned the hungry vine to a seed. The beast was once again a man, the excess mass from the monsters dissolving as Zack dealt the final blow, plunging his sword through the glowing core in the monster’s gut. The man was dying. But he was dying human.

“You did well…Zack…” Youko tried to tune out the words. They weren’t for him to hear. He waited, feeling the magic unravel. He was…tired. Not physically. But everything just…hurt inside. It wasn’t his pain. He knew that. Soon he would return to the mists. He would travel back home and leave this pain behind. He would go to Koenma. He would tell him about the magic. This world. He would…

What? What would he do? Break the link? Abandon his summoner after helping him kill someone who mattered _this much_ to him?

He turned, taking in the scene. The older man—he looked so much like Zack. He could have been his father( _was he?)—_ was pressing the hilt of his giant sword into Zack’s hand. It was still covered in the hardened reddish gold sap from his death tree, from that battle oh so long ago…

“My family’s honor…I know of none better to carry it.”

The mists were dissolving. Zack’s breath hitched, the man’s name caught in his throat. Youko turned away.

“ _Wait!”_

The magic clamped down on him, chaining him in this place when all he wanted to do was leave. The mists solidified, trapping him in this construct of magic and life once again.

If he could have spoken, he would have growled out a demand. But like always, the words were smothered before they even made it to his throat. Deliberately he turned, finding the boy’s violet eyes locked with his.

In that moment, with his dying mentor in his arms, covered in his blood, Youko saw power. Saw power and will and emotion so powerful it reached across the ether and _grabbed_ him.

“You have support abilities—heal him!”

 _The man wants to die!_ Youko wanted to shout. A man like that—he’d seen that look. The look in the man’s eyes before. It was of someone who knew he had nothing left. Nothing to live for. He’d seen it in the _mirror,_ when he’d been ready to give his life to save his mother’s. She was all that mattered, and if he couldn’t save her, then there was no point in living. Better to die and ensure she lived, than live knowing he’d failed her.

That man— _Angeal_ —had failed something. Had lost something dear to him. Had decided to give his life to try and _teach_ something to the bone-headed idiot who was going to ruin everything.

“ _Please. Try.”_

But Youko had no control as the magic forced his actions, the order of the summoner being absolute. He knelt in the blood, could feel it soaking into the white silk of his pants—staining the silver fur of his tail, his hair. He reached a blood stained claw into his hair, reaching for his strongest healing herb.

The flower bloomed in his palm, and he could feel the magic infusing with the natural properties of the herb. It was a Reikai plant—native to the spirit world. It was rare. So rare that Youko only had one seed. Legends spoke of this golden lily, that the goddess of the sun herself had left it behind when she returned to the heavens above.

Golden nectar pooled in the center of the bloom as a millenniums worth of growth finished over the course of a few seconds. He shouldn’t have been able to do it. He didn’t have the youki, the strength to do it so fast. But this world—this _boy_ ’s magic fueled the process; full of desperation and hope and grief and despair.

He cradled the bloom to the man’s lips. Tipped the golden substance down his throat.

The edges of the wound began to glow. A soft gold the color of the sun’s light knit the horrible stomach wound back together. The evidence of the fatal stabbing vanished, as if it had never been.

“Angeal…?” The hope in the voice was raw. Tentative. A spider web drifting in a breeze that could easily shred it with just the slightest bit of pressure. Youko turned away, returning the spent bloom to a seed, and tucking it discreetly into his hair. The man was breathing. But it was slowing. Becoming shallow. He could hear it, pounding in his ears.

And then it stopped.

The link holding him to this place shattered as the web snapped, floating free on the breeze. He was Youko Kurama, notorious bandit of the Makai. Kurama Minamino, member of Koemna’s elite Spirit Detective team. S-Class demon.

He fled the torrent of grief, riding it through the worlds back home.

You could heal a body. But if a soul didn’t want to live, there was nothing to be done.

x-x-x

“Fox.”

Hiei’s voice snapped him out of it. He stared blearily around him. It was dark. He didn’t know where he was. Where had he been before the summoning? Before…before…

“Fox.” Hiei’s red eyes glittered in the lights cast by the streetlamp. “You are crying.”

His hand was shaking as he touched his face, smudging the tract of liquid under the tips of his fingers. Was he so sure it was tears? Maybe it was blood. His claws had been covered with blood.

But no. These were human fingers. Clawless. Smaller. Moisture shone in the light from the lamp, but it was clear.

“So I am…” He heard himself agreeing with Hiei. But it was distant, as if he were hearing someone else.

Youko Kurama didn’t cry.

Hiei didn’t ask why. He shadowed Kurama the entire way home, and his aura lingered outside his window long into the night.


	5. The Sun Goddess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline is currently in the months between Angeal’s death and the mission in Junon. It’s fairly close to the start of Zack being shipped off for his forced vacation in Costa del Sol. By the way, things will slowly (very slowly) diverge from canon in the following chapters. Ripples are so much fun.

The war was over.

Zack stretched, hearing the satisfying _‘pop’_ of his back cracking. Dawn in Wutai was much cooler than in Midgar at this time of year, despite it being further south. Maybe it was the breeze from the ocean?

A mental shrug, it wasn’t like the answer was all that important. He fished his PHS out of its harness, flicking through the emails to the one with the mission details. He hadn’t been back to Wutai in…gosh, months. When he saw the mission details he’d almost wondered if the Treasure Princess—a squeaky voice in the back of his mind finished the introduction with, “ _The GREAT NINJA YUFFIE!”—_ had managed to hack the main mission distribution account. Most of his official missions didn’t involve words like ‘Treasure Hunt’ much less in the Wutai Mountains. He had his personal hate-club in the Crescent Unit, and he was decently high profile due to his involvement in ending the War, so the company rarely sent him to Wutai.

He scanned the message again. ShinRa received a tip off that someone was stashing materia and weapons in the mountains outside of Wutai’s capital. He’d been sent to investigate, and capture and turn in any illegal items. Given the conditions ShinRa had foisted on the small island nation, Materia and anything better quality than farming tools WERE contraband.

The whole thing left a sour taste in his mouth. The war was OVER. But materia and weapons could theoretically be used by rebels to start ANOTHER one. Well. It was a mission.

He tucked the small device away and rolled his shoulders, shifting the still unusual weight of the Buster Sword against his back. Sometimes he forgot about the weight. Other times it was like a stone, dragging him down.

Angeal had trusted his honor to Zack. There was no way he’d throw that away.

He forced his thoughts away from that broken building, catching himself as he scratched at the raised scar on his face. As much as he hated it, Angeal was gone. He wouldn’t want Zack to be moping around. He told Zack to never let go of his dreams to be a Hero. Zack was going to become a Hero.

For Angeal. He would _prove_ that a SOLDIER could keep his honor. That SOLDIERs were no monsters.

…but before that, he had to complete this mission.

He shaded his eyes against the rising sun, scanning the mountains for any suspicious cracks or caves. There were strange statues carved into the cliff face, making his job harder. The reports said that the Imperial hold-outs had holed up in these mountains the longest, even after the Emperor had capitulated and signed the treaty. On the one hand, it would be foolish to make a cache here, given ShinRa knew about the network of tunnels and hidey-holes. On the other, given SOLDIER’s state after Genesis’ mass desertion, and…Angeal’s death…there was no way they had enough man-power to map and raid all the hidden nooks and flush out the rebels.

The morning breeze teased at Zack’s hair, and he sent a puff of air to blow the single bang out of his face. It was longer now—maybe he should think about cutting it…?

Nah. He liked it long. He’d never let it get as long as Sephiroth’s, but it was nice like this.

Well, he was burning daylight. Zack hopped off the stone he’d been standing on, and made his way toward the path leading up into the carved cliffs. He’d never find anything if he didn’t start looking.

x-x-x

 

It just had to be a damn Crescent Unit base, didn’t it? Zack dodged another shot from those weird rifle/spear hybrid things that were one of the identifying weapons of the island nation. The soldiers were unenhanced, so Zack definitely had the edge when it came to strength and stamina, but they were _quick_ , and they knew these caves by heart. Torches were immediately doused, and Zack was reliant on his other senses. Of course, sound bounced _weird_ in narrow stone tunnels.

“DIE SHINRA!” The yell echoed around him—attempting to mask the approach of near-silent footfalls. Remembering how much room he had, Zack made a far shorter dodge than he usually would, bringing up the Buster Sword to guard his exposed side. He couldn’t swing it in here—the roof was too low—but the _clang_ of metal on metal told him where the soldier was.

“Firaga!” He released the magic he’d been holding, right into the chest of the armored Wutaian. He closed his ears to the muffled scream, letting the charred body fall to the floor to join the litter of bodies he’d run into on his way. He felt bad. He really did. But they attacked _him._

Zack didn’t let himself think about it—sinking into the adrenaline rush of battle and mission high, riding the wave down the corridor toward the far distant torchlight. A wooden door stood half ajar—he shouldered it open, blinking at the sudden light. If this place followed the usual pattern, this room would be where the leader of the unit waited—maybe with one of those hulking anti-SOLDIER weapons. He doubted it, knowing that one of those beasts would have a hard time making its way this deep into the mountains. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he immediately found the red armor of the elite, settling into his ready stance with the Buster Sword, noting with satisfaction that _this_ room would be big enough to maneuver.

But…nothing happened. The Elite didn’t attack. Nothing beyond a hissed, “SOLDIER scum!” and moving his rifle/spear into a guard position. He seemed reluctant to move, and his stance was strange, wide, blocking, and full of openings, where normally the Wutai warriors were low, slick and closed—more suited for quick movements than standing their ground.

“Oi, what gives!?” The petulant voice rang out from behind the Elite, freezing Zack’s blood cold. That high, whining, self-indulgent voice. He knew it. He knew it quite well. Damn it, trust Yuffie’s nose for trouble to sniff out a mission that had ‘Treasure Hunt’ written all over it. He’d never heard of the Wutaian warriors stooping to hostage taking. He immediately scrapped his charge-head-first-sword-swinging plan. Warriors who knew what they were getting into were one thing—he _refused_ to harm a child. “Yuffie!?”

“You will not sully her name!” The Elite hissed, Zack’s fears realized, a small black haired head peered curiously over the Elite’s arm. She…didn’t seem scared, her face shifting into a grin before she rounded on the Elite trying to…protect her? “ _This_ is what has you guys all in a tizzy? He’s my minion—er, I mean ally. I always send him in to clear out the monsters for me!”

She tried to do some fancy ninja move to slip passed him, but he was obviously far better trained than she was, and caught her easily by the scruff of her tunic, “Princess—”

Wait…? She really _was_ a princess? Damn, he always thought she’d been boasting when he accosted him during that mission, so long ago. She’d always been an excitable girl, obviously with a smattering of ninja training, and an overactive imagination. And what little girl didn’t want to be a princess?

“Let me _go._ I came for the materia you guys have been stashing! That materia should be for the good of Wutai! Don’t make me show you my moves!” She struggled in his grasp, throwing Zack an annoyed glare, “Well?! Are you gonna help your boss or not?”

Zack just stared at her, dumbfounded. Didn’t she realize the position she was in? He’d _killed_ the rest of the unit. The Elite was sure he was going to kill them too, otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to force the small girl—Princess!?—into the safest place he could think of. Behind him.

Instead he clipped his sword back into his harness, surprising the Elite with his next words, “Get her out of here! ShinRa’s retrieval team will be here in 10.”

He’d given the offer to Wutai rebels before. Most of them loved their country. There was nothing wrong with fighting for that which you cherished. None ever took it. This one, however, was wavering. A child’s life--one more precious than his personal pride—was on the line. He could see it in the tensing body, the way the armored hands had a strangle hold on the spear/gun, twisting, uncertain what to do—

Then the tip of the spear came up, and Zack instantly called up a Barrier spell, the translucent wall flickering in the torchlight. A shot rang out, the torch being blasted from its sconce on the wall. Zack couldn’t see anything as the room was plunged into darkness—light footfalls and Yuffie’s loud protests quickly retreating down the halls.

“ _Unhand me! I’m gonna tell Dad on you! Ya’ll are supposed to listen to me, ya’hear? Hey! Watch it—”_

They were moving _away_ from him. Zack let the spell fizzle—he needed light. He’d been bluffing about the retrieval team—they would only come if he found more than he could carry here. His best bet would be to relight the torch—it took too much concentration and magic to hold a Fire spell without it exploding, and Firaga was even worse.

Absently he threaded some magic through the red materia on his arm, watching as it brightened obediently. He knew the summons wouldn’t be answered—aside from simulated battles, he’d only ever succeeded in summoning the damn thing when he’d absolutely needed to. Kunsel had a theory about that—the contract wasn’t completed until he knew the summon’s name. How the hell was he supposed to know that? Ifrit and Shiva and Bahumut…where did their names come from?

Anyway, it made a reliable flashlight, glowing brighter than most other materia for less magic spent. He used it as a spotlight, finding the splintered, charred stick that had been the torch before the Elite blasted it. Eh, this wasn’t much use. But there should be a bundle of sticks around here somewhere—torches were a very primitive form of light. Sometimes Zack really did believe the Wutaians were better off with ShinRa and mako power, if this was what they were used to.

Aha, found it. He pulled one from the bundle, carefully moving a distance from it. He didn’t want to set the whole thing on fire, after all. Firaga had a tendency to _explode._

Half the bundle later, and Zack finally managed to light one of the damn sticks without completely incinerating it. His skill with materia was definitely better than it used to be—he was a SOLDIER First Class. One of two remaining. He’d been run ragged since his promotion—missions for four having to be split between two, not to mention the backlog of lower ranked missions due to Genesis causing the desertion of many of the Seconds and Thirds.

He placed the singed torch back into the sconce, taking another look around the room. There were plenty of boxes in here. The door the Elite and Yuffie had taken was on the other side of the hall, next to some sort of alter thing. He juggled the knob, unsurprised to see that it was barred behind them. He sincerely hoped they got out of here. He’d been helping Yuffie with her little treasure hunting business, but that was in his free time—this was the first time since he’d met her that he’d seen her during an official mission.

His gaze fell on the boxes and crates. He knew what he would be doing for a while.

x-x-x

A few days later, a memo arrived on Zack’s desk. He’d never realized how much of Angeal’s work had been paper-work related. Mission reports and briefings. Sephiroth had snorted when Zack had barged into his office and complained, gesturing to the piles that towered on either end of _his_ desk, twice the size of Zack’s.

“Welcome to _my_ life.” Sephiroth dead-panned, “Glamorous, isn’t it?”

It didn’t help that Lazard was delegating more and more of his work to the two remaining Firsts. Zack didn’t begrudge the guy—he was going positively grey from stress, and always looked nervous and withdrawn these days. Zack was under the opinion that he needed a vacation one of these days or else he was going to keel over.

Anyway, back to the memo. It had been delivered by one of the Turk’s interns—the Department of Administrative Research did have legitimate duties beyond the shady super-spy aspects—and included a detailed inventory of everything that had been found on his last mission to Wutai. He skimmed it, disinterested but knowing that he should on the off-chance Sephiroth sprung a pop-quiz about it. Sephiroth seemed to know _everything_ , especially if it involved Zack slacking off.

Lessee…there was plenty of materia, which had been categorized and distributed among the lower ranks. Weapons had been sold for scrap or refurbished, resulting in that amount of money added to the budget, and that many blades in the armory… Accessories…Medicines… Was there anything he actually needed to do with all this…?

Right there, at the bottom of the exhaustive list—an afterthought. A dispassionate statement that he had a package to pick up at the Materia Department. One summon materia, of unknown properties and strength, to be given to him for further testing and evaluation.

Glad for _any_ reason to stretch his legs and get away from the mind-numbingly boring desk, Zack snatched up the note and skipped through the near deserted SOLDIER floor. Nearly everyone they had was deployed on some mission or another—even Kunsel was out, some sort of negotiation mission at Fort Condor. He waved to the one person he recognized—Luxiere—and strolled on in to the Materia Department.

His entrance immediately drew the attention of the science-geek in residence. He didn’t really like the look the guy was giving him, as if he were a little bug that scuttled in off the streets. Geez, you’d think they’d assign the more friendly scientists down here, letting the more anti-social ones stay in the labs.

“I’ve got a materia to pick up?” He flashed the note at him, handing it over when the white-coat raised a speculative eyebrow and demanded the paperwork. His uniform gave him away as a First Class, meaning he probably wasn’t lying about the orders, but the materia department was well known to be sticklers for requiring documentation. They absolutely hated parting with their specimen.

With a resigned frown, the scientist disappeared into the back. Zack waited, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently. He was super excited—testing this materia would be a nice break from the boredom of after-mission paperwork. He wasn’t due for a proper mission until tomorrow at the earliest. Sephiroth was out, and Lazard liked to keep one First on hand in case of emergencies.

At last, the scientist dropped the materia in Zack’s waiting hands, shoving a sign out sheet at him. It was just for testing—of course he would have to give it back. Zack scribbled something resembling his signature, quickly escaping the stuffy glass room and headed toward the training room.

Once there, Zack placed the materia on the metal console, pulling out his other materia for comparison, placing them one after another. A grin tugged at his lips—he was right. The size was about the same as his Ifrit or Bahamut summons—he could use it in a normal materia slot—but it was just as bright as his first, runty summon.

He scanned the report the scientist had included. ‘ _Higher than average mana costs. Preliminary scans indicate high magical aptitude required, but lack of viable test subjects makes it hard to confirm. Added effect raises subject’s elemental resistances, but no specific elemental attribute can be pinned down.’_

He didn’t really know why protocol bothered sending the materia through the geeks first. Most of them didn’t have the magic reserves to summon _Ifrit_ , and there was only so much information to be gathered without combat data.

Zack shrugged, protocol was protocol. He popped Ifrit and Bahamut back into his bag, slipping his unnamed summon back into its specialized slot on his bracer. He wasn’t sure why he kept it. Ifrit and Bahamut were more reliable. If he had MP, he could summon them.

His fingers traced the small materia.

His…charm.

His guardian…

Angeal…had teased him about that, in that brief time before he disappeared. Back when the summon had built that weird cocoon around Zack’s unconscious body, protecting it even after the spell should have ended.

Of course…that summon had been the only other one with him, that day. The only other witness to Zack’s failure. To Angeal’s passing.

He…hadn’t been able to summon it since.

But he kept it in his bracer, while his other summons were relegated to his reserves.

He shook his head, “Get a grip, Zack. Head in the game!”

The only orb remaining was his current test subject. “Alright.” He sighed, snatching up the warm materia, slotting it into the reader in the console, “Let’s do this!”

He hit the timed delay and stepped into the training chamber, waiting for the numbers to tick down.

_Data Loaded._

The desert built itself up around him—a flat expanse, ending with the sunset colored walls of Cosmo Canyon. He raised his eyebrow at the choice of setting—it was good for this battle, lots of empty space—but most people didn’t like the desert training missions. He’d just left it on the previous settings.

He waited. Any moment now.

The summon’s arrival was…quiet. A slight intensifying of the sunlight, a shimmer in the desert heat. A wolf trotted toward him, snow-white fur gleaming in the sunlight. There was something. Something else. An overlay. Zack could almost see it. Almost, but not quite. Red. Red on white. But no. Just white. Just an ordinary wolf.

A wolf who came right up to him, tail wagging happily in the dust. While the rest of the wolf was pure white, the tail almost seemed…stained. Black. But the pattern was odd—as if it had been dipped in paint, or ink.

He stared into the wolf’s black eyes for a while, remembering the last time he’d had a standoff with a summon creature.

“I don’t suppose you want to fight, do you?”

He didn’t know why he asked, but he did. The wolf sat, cocking its head at him. It panted in the heat. A breeze suddenly picked up, bringing with it momentary relief, rustling Zack’s hair and teasing his bangs. He couldn’t help the smile, and reached out to scratch the wolf behind the ears. Those eyes closed in pleasure, tail thumping in the dust like a happy dog.

“I hear ya. I don’t really feel like fighting either. If this place weren’t so damn hot, it’d be a nice break.”

The wolf watched him closely, and then turned its head to the sky. A long drawn out howl tore from its throat, echoing among the canyon walls. Zack watched in amazement as the sky darkened, the moon shimmering into view. The temperature dropped a good ten degrees, the sudden chill making him shiver.

“Impressive, furball.” Zack grinned, dropping to the floor into a cross-legged position, “But now it’s too cold. Get over here and warm me up.”

The wolf curled up at his side, seeming content to just let Zack pet it. Every now and then he’d almost see that red shimmer again—damn, was this what the report had meant by requiring a certain level of magical aptitude? Zack’s was the highest next to Sephiroth, and he doubted the other First would be interested in a summon that had no practical use in battle.

The quiet stars shimmered in the night sky, the moon illuminating the desert night. Zack’s hand brushed against the ground, expecting to feel gritty sand.

What met him was lush grass—wet with dew.

x-x-x

‘ _Testing showed no real offensive capabilities. See report RX-0938 and the relevant training room data._

_Recommendation: phase materia into the fusion research. Summons have so far been unable to be replicated. Perhaps further research could reveal why._

_Denied. Summon materia is too rare to risk. SOLDIER First Class Fair has requested custody of subject R-0938 for use with added effect.’_

There was much grumbling about signing over yet _another_ summon to Zack Fair—he had _FIVE_ —but unless another requested it, with the research prospect denied, they had no real options. It would just sit in storage.

x-x-x

Zack lay on his bed, far into the night. He couldn’t sleep.

He held the two materia above him, small stars in the night sky. They were so bright. So—

The sneaking suspicion he’d had so long ago, when he’d seen the emotion in his guardian’s face—The cheeky grins. The _curiosity_. The _pain.—_ began to nag at him again. Fighting and gaining Ifrit, Bahamut, and Odin had tempered it—they acted just as a summon should. They came when called, they blew up what they were pointed at, and then they left.

They didn’t ignore a battle to go explore to woods until specifically told to fight.

They didn’t hang around to protect their unconscious summoner.

They didn’t try to warn him of fruitless hope. And they didn’t share his pain when it failed.

They didn’t just sit around with him for hours in the VR room, listening to him talk with eyes deeper than the night sky.

Summons without a name.

Summons whose materia glowed with a power the others could only vaguely imitate.

If the others were memories…were these memories being _created?_ Had these ones not become a memory yet?

Zack didn’t know where the thought came from. It slipped through his fingers as he let his hands fall, one arm falling over his face, shielding his eyes. The materia—the new one—was warm in his palm, against his face.

The thought whispered. Zack jerked into a sitting position, staring at the orb in his hand.

The summon— _Amaterasu—_ he had its _name._

Quickly he focused on his older summon. His guardian.

…nothing.

Zack flopped back onto his bed. Figures.

x-x-x

 


	6. A Contract of Convenience

 

Kurama was walking home, tired, thankful that Genkai had graciously offered to let them wash all the blood out before kicking them out of her temple for some peace and quiet. Well, to be fair, _Yukina_ had been the one to make the suggestion; Genkai had just “Hrmph”ed and didn’t disagree. Either way, Kurama was thankful he didn’t have to deal with the stares being covered in green demon-blood would garner him.

He would just have to explain to his worried mother _why_ he was sneaking into the house at—he checked his watch—2 o’clock in the morning. He doubted she would understand that he’d just had to clean out a nest of something nasty that had slipped through the barriers, intent on setting up a smuggling route back to the Makai. With fresh human flesh as the specialty.

Maybe if he was careful, and slipped in through the window, she’d stay asleep and he could claim he’d come home much sooner?

 _“Fox. You are wavering.”_ Hiei’s voice cut through his thoughts—why was Hiei here? He’d figured the fire demon would stay at Genkai’s with Yukina. A quick check told him that Hiei wasn’t even _in_ the area, and only the faint impression of the jagan’s youki remained. Telepathy?

And then he noticed it; a tentative tug at his youki, the tendril of magic that had tangled itself into his aura while he wasn’t paying attention. Of course. Even after all this time Hiei was watching out for the odd flicker and tugs before Kurama would be spirited away. It was cute, the concern the fire demon showed. Or didn’t show. It was also entertaining to tease him about it.

He studied the tendril of magic, he could untangle it easily. It wasn’t anything at all like the irresistible summons, and he automatically moved to block it. And then hesitated.

He hadn’t been summoned in _months._ At first he…hadn’t wanted to go back. Neither had Zack tried to summon him. And then…he’d started to subconsciously block the smaller tugs. If they weren’t life threatening, Zack could deal with it. They always came at inopportune times…during class, in the middle of a mission, training…

Every time he blocked it, it was a little easier to ignore.

He didn’t know how time worked in Zack’s world. How long had it been since that man died? Obviously Zack was still alive if he was trying the summoning again. How much stronger had he grown? Had he learned the lesson that man had given his life to teach?

Curiosity began to churn. It was a slow burn. He’d already decided, he just didn’t realize it yet.

“ _Fox!”_ Hiei’s warning was sharp. If he didn’t do it soon, Kurama wouldn’t be able to untangle the magic in time. He felt Hiei’s presence, and following the mental link he was rewarded with the image of his fellow Spirit Detective, ensconced in a tree on the outskirts of Genkai’s temple. The Jagen was glowing, a faint purple area beneath the warding bandana.

 _You’re worried!_ Kurama sent the teasing thought back down the link, a faint smile blossoming at the indignant denial that was immediately thrown back at him. Kurama shrugged, closing his eyes and feeling the connection snap into place. Nothing to do about it now. _I’m going this time._

 _“Hn.”_ That awareness of Hiei faded as the fire demon pulled away, and Kurama was swept up into the magic.

x-x-x

Zack couldn’t believe his eyes. It was _working._ He hadn’t expected it to.

The mist was gathering. Zack had picked the Mideel forests this time, a throwback to when he’d first fought the summon. The first time he’d really doubted everything he’d been taught about summon materia.

He froze at the sight of those cool golden eyes, immediately flashing back to that day, Angeal dying in his arms, white clothes soaked in blood. The look the summon had given him, as Angeal breathed his last…

“ _I warned you…”_

He steeled his courage as the summon’s attention wandered, taking in the familiar grounds. The whip appeared immediately this time—did it remember the last time they were here?

“Wait!” Zack unharnessed Angeal’s sword, noticing that gold eyes immediately zeroed in on it—did he recognize it? Or was it simply in response to a weapon?—he stabbed the blade into the ground, and took a step back, trying to hide the wince at treating Angeal’s precious sword like that, “I don’t want to fight.”

And this was the moment of truth. His guardian hadn’t attacked immediately like Ifrit and Bahamut, but they’d listened to his orders and stopped the fight when he asked. Those summons had been banished the moment the fight was over. Would this one leave like them? Or would he stay?

The whip lowered, shrinking back into the strange red flower Zack _still_ couldn’t recognize. And he _knew_ a thing or two about flowers by now thank-you-very-much. The summon held the flower gently, eyes fixated on the Buster Sword planted blade down into the dirt. One step forward, two, and the flower was gently leaning against the blade. Something flickered across the otherwise impassive face. Zack studied the setup, a chill running down his spine. It almost looked like…

A grave.

And then the summon was back to where it had been standing, gold eyes boring into Zack’s own, pale arms crossed impatiently. The meaning was clear.

_What do you want?_

“I want—to talk.” Zack winced as the summon arched an eyebrow. A clawed finger tapped gently against its throat, shaking its head.

“I know—just…”And then he froze, mind whirling as it processed the exact meaning of that gesture. “Wait. _Can_ you talk?” At the rolled eyes, Zack elaborated, “Normally? Usually?”

When he’d been talking to Amaterasu, he’d felt like the wolf could understand him. It—she? Felt like a she—had even nodded every now and then, making the occasional appropriately dog-like responses to words a normal dog couldn’t understand.

He’d known his guardian would understand. He hadn’t expected to be able to _communicate_.

He felt completely overwhelmed as the summon nodded curtly in response to his question—any doubt he’d had about the summon—no, _him—_ being a living, thinking being was dashed in that single moment. _Not_ a weapon. No matter what the scientists had to say.

And suddenly the whole conversation he’d had prepared just blew out of his mind with the force of that realization. With the knowledge that he’d been dragging another person—maybe not human, with those ears and tails and claws, but definitely a _person—_ into his battles without thought.

“I’m…sorry.” The admission elicited disbelief, Zack pushed on, “I…didn’t know—didn’t think—summons are not supposed to be _alive._ They are memories _.”_ He clenched his fists, “I’ve been inconsiderate, dragging you into my problems. Putting you in danger. _Forcing_ you to do things.”

He remembered the expression on the summon’s face when he demanded he heal Angeal. It had been the first time he’d seen anything beyond playful confidence, or battle intensity. Pity. Reluctance. He’d moved slowly. Methodically. And in the end, he’d looked away, even as Zack thought Angeal would pull through…

“Did you know?” The whisper was quiet; Zack was focused intently on the Buster Sword. On the flower that had been offered silently to the makeshift memorial, “Did you know he wanted to die?”

He didn’t want to see the slow nod. He didn’t look away from the sword. Not even as the grass rustled, his guardian making careful steps across the clearing to stand before him. One clawed finger-tip tapped him on the chin, forcing him to look away. To look up. Zack wasn’t short by any means, but the summon was taller.

Immediately Zack was reminded of the time they met. They’d been closer then, with Zack on the ground, wracked with a Marlboro’s poison. Even to a SOLDIER, that was a slow, painful death.

This time the summon stepped back, keeping Zack’s attention locked on him. He held his clawed hand out, palm up. Something small and round lay in the center. It was even slightly shiny, shimmering in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

Zack felt a tug on his magic, the materia in his bracer flaring bright. _Crack._ It was a soft sound, but it seemed to boom in the otherwise silent clearing. The hard shell split, something small and green pushing through the fissure. A tiny sprout, a small golden bud forming on the end.

Zack _recognized_ it. He sucked in a breath, remembering the sheer amount of magic the summon had needed, to grow that bud to bloom. To coax those tight petals open, to reveal the glimmering nectar within.

“I—“ He shook his head, “Stop. You don’t need to do that.”

A silent sigh, the motions obviously exaggerated to make up for the lack of words. The summon shook his head. He held out the tiny sprout.

“…Should I take it…?”

Another head shake. An exasperated look. He cupped his hands together.

“So…I shouldn’t take it…” Zack slowly worked through the scene, “But you are…offering?”

A faint incline of the head. A small smile.

Zack watched in fascination as time reversed, the tiny sprout returning to an unbroken seed before his eyes. The summon carefully tucked the seed back into his curtain of silver hair, pulling out another. This one was smaller. It quickly grew into another of the red flowers.

Zack recognized the look in those eyes. He’d seen it in Angeal when his mentor had given into Zack’s wheedling, and picked up a broadsword to spar. Playful, _“Come at me.”_

Zack returned the grin, his spirits buoyed by the realization of what the summon was offering. His support. His _help._ If Zack needed. It hadn’t been willing last time. Zack had forced it with Angeal. With the summon offering like this…he wouldn’t just be _taking_ it anymore.

The guilt that had been eating him up inside eased. Just a little.

x-x-x

_“What is your name…?”_

Zack’s final question followed Kurama back home, haunting him as he settled in the pre-dawn street. He stood there for a moment, just breathing in the crisp air, running a hand through his hair as he was won’t to do when agitated. How better to calm down than to check his weapons?

He was missing one. The rose he’d left behind. Too little too late, perhaps, but it had felt appropriate at the time.

That…had been an interesting encounter. He had expected a battle when he chose to answer the call, but he hadn’t quite been prepared for _that._

 _“summons are not supposed to be_ **alive** _”_

Zack’s incredulous statement had…bothered him. The boy— _man_. He had grown up since his friend’s death—had been…drowning in guilt as soon as he realized that.

What had he thought they were? Kurama wondered, slipping his hands into the pockets of his green uniform. That reaction put Kurama’s demon-summoning theory to rest. While some of the rules fit—mental link, a compulsion to obey the summoner, the summoner acting as an energy source for the summoned being—even the most callous of literature didn’t teach that the demons were not _alive_. They were _intended_ to be subjugated. Zack had been…appalled to the point of apology when he realized he’d _forced_ Kurama’s aid back then.

_“They are memories.”_

But memories of what? Of power? Did whatever forces govern the magic of that plain just reach out and…grab compatible powers at random?

Memories had to come from _somewhere._

Kurama couldn’t help the heavy sigh, tangling his fingers into his hair. Regardless of how he got into this mess, he _had_ formally agreed to come to Zack’s aid. As formally as one could when reduced to charades, at any rate. He hadn’t intended to do that when he accepted the summons. He’d intended to see how the boy had grown, perhaps do battle; maybe come out of it with some magic infused plants…

But…he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset with this turn of events. He’d gotten some interesting insights into the workings of this magic, and even gotten an apology. With the realization that Kurama wasn’t—whatever he thought a summon was _supposed_ to be, he was likely to be more considerate about summoning him.

But that meant that Kurama would _have_ to answer from now on.

And Zack’s question still haunted him.

_What is your name…?_

It was Youko Kurama that the magic was seeking—that much was plain. He didn’t have any of his reiki. The constructed body was entirely that of his past self.

But…It had been Suuichi Minamino who decided to accept it, where Youko Kurama would have turned away and never look back once he’d been burned.

So, the answer to Zack’s question wasn’t quite so simple.

x-x-x

Zack spun the flower thoughtfully between his fingertips, careful to avoid the large thorns that dotted the long green stem. The slums were in a perpetual state of gloom—sunlight hardly ever penetrated Midgar’s lower levels. Day and night were created from a strict cycle of brightening and dimming the overhead lighting—and some places were in such a state of disrepair that half the lights didn’t even work.

Luckily Sector Five wasn’t like that. It was one of the better maintained Sectors, even if the only sector Urban Development had managed to fully refurbish was Sector Six, before their budget was slashed. One of these days Zack was going to move Aerith to the Upper Plate. Where she’d be safer. Closer. Able to grow a _real_ garden under full sunlight…

But for now, Zack made _sure_ he cleared out any nasty monsters that settled anywhere _near_ Aerith’s church.

Speaking of the church, it loomed before him. This area was always a little brighter than the others, sunlight managing to filter through the gap in the plate above it. He craned his neck, seeing the thin strips of metal spanning the void high, high above them. The causeway he’d been knocked from months ago. The green haze thrown off by the reactor blocked any view of the sky, and Zack vowed he would take Aerith out of the city entirely one day. One day, she would be able to see the white clouds dotting the blue sky, without Midgar’s pollution getting in the way.

He shook off the wistful thoughts, pushing open the aging wooden door and making his way down the aisle, “Aerith! Aerith! I’ve got a present for you!”

His voice echoed amidst the building—one of the few completely wooden structures in this sector—but there was no answer. The pews were empty. There was no sign of Aerith’s twisted brown hair among the white and yellow flowers. He frowned and checked the time on his PHS—he hadn’t realized it was quite that early. Or maybe Aerith was running late. It wasn’t like he’d called ahead to tell her he was coming. He’d wanted to…surprise her.

He sighed, and slipped the flower carefully into his harness, folding his hands behind his back as he surveyed the church. He would just have to wait. He shot off an email to let her know he would be waiting for her, and did a series of squats—counting his rhythmic exhales as his muscles moved. He started to drift off, thinking of the last time he’d been able to see her—a week ago? Two? They’d been a whirl of small missions, each taking him out of the city for a day or two or three, his helicopters never making it back before dark, when he knew she would be at home and not at the church. Her mother didn’t like him much.

He sighed and let out his final breath, stopping his impromptu exercises and stretching. Whelp. Nothing to be done for it. He slid the Buster Sword out of its harness and leaned it against the pew, noticing as he did so that one of his materia was flaring in its socket. He popped it out, flopping back into the creaking wooden seat. It was materia he’d just gotten the other night. The one to summon Amaterasu. But why was it flaring like that?

He considered for a moment, before feeding his magic carefully into the materia. She wouldn’t blow up the church. She’d been the least battle-hungry summon he’d ever _seen._

Unlike his guardian, Amaterasu didn’t seem to have a set summoning ritual. She just shimmered into existence, as if stepping casually out of a sunbeam. The snow-white wolf barked a greeting at him, nearly jumping onto him in her haste. He laughed, “Easy! Easy there furball.”

She lay her head on his knees, nose nudging at his hand insistently. “You sure?”

He was hesitant. She seemed to be demanding affection, pettings, exactly like the neighbor’s dog would back when he lived with his parents. He _knew_ she was smart. She could understand him. She wasn’t just a _dog._

But those deep black eyes gave him the impression that she thought he was being an idiot, and her cool nose prodded at his hand again, letting out a snort.

“Alright, alright.” He gave in, using his nails to scratch at the thin layer of white fur under her jaw. Her tail thumped against the wood in delight. He shifted to scratch behind her ears, “Did you just want attention? Is that it?”

She cocked her head in consideration before huffing. She turned away from him with a flick of her tail, the musty scent of fur and something else—ink? It reminded him of Wutai, and the lingering scent of their thick brush paintings—wafting into his face as the tip of her tail smacked him on the arm. “Oi, you don’t have to be like that!”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, before ignoring him, raising her nose to breath deep in the air, eyes closing.

Amused, Zack sank back into the pew, arms crossed, and he watched the wolf wander the church. Amaterasu—he needed to find a nickname for her, the unfamiliar syllables were a mouthful—seemed most interested in the patch of flowers in the center of the church. Suddenly Zack was reminded of the training mission, reminded of the brief glimpse he’d seen of Amaterasu’s power. That single patch of grass, growing in the desert. Night where it had been day.

She circled the patch, nosing carefully at a drooping bud. Then suddenly she sprang into the mess of white and yellow, Zack jumping to his feet with a horrified shout—she was rolling among the flowers! Crushing them! Sending petals flying everywhere!—he leapt forward, arms wrapping around the wolf’s large neck in an attempt to stop her rampage, “Hey! Don’t do that! Aerith will _kill_ _me_ if you wreck her flowers!”

“Zack?”

The god-awful _bad timing_ socked Zack like a fist to the face. He reeled around, the white wolf still in a headlock, just in time to see Aerith pushing through the heavy wooden door. To see her round the edge of the pews and start down the aisle. To see her eyes widen and her hand fly to her mouth, to hear her gasp in shock and horror—“Oh _Gaea_ Aerith, it’s not what it looks like—”

“She’s _gorgeous!”_

\--and…that wasn’t what he was expecting. At all. Amaterasu slid out of Zack’s suddenly slack grip, sitting up primly and innocently and cleaning her paw as if she hadn’t just spent the last few minutes utterly destroying Aerith’s flower garden.

Only…it wasn’t. Zack blinked as he finally looked around, taking in the magnificently blooming flowers around him. There was not so much as a crushed stem among them, once tightly closed petals now opening wide and reaching higher—as if straining for a sun they could feel but Zack could not see. He could only sputter incoherently as Aerith carefully picked her way through the blooms, her eyes locked with the deep black eyes of the wolf.

“Did you do this furball?” Zack finally managed to ask. The wolf flicked her tail casually at him, once more hitting him in the arm, this time it left a black smear on his skin. “Oi!” He rubbed at it, the ink—definitely ink—smudging between his fingers, “Don’t do that!”

“Her name isn’t furball. She wishes to be called Ammy.” Aerith reached out slowly, carefully, as if she was afraid the wolf would vanish from before her sight. The wolf shot Zack a baleful look before she placed her head in Aerith’s hands.

The nickname felt right. Much better than furball did. But how had Aerith known to pick a name that fit with Amaterasu? And he might not have grown up in the slums, but he was sure the reaction to a large wolf rolling among the flowers should have been closer to screaming and fear.

“Honored guest—what brings you here to this world?”

Zack got the feeling there was something he was missing, as he watched his girlfriend and his summon participate in a weird non-conversation, occasionally using words, but mostly using nothing at all. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t you be asking _me_ what’s going on?”

Aerith stirred from her trance, a bright, cheerful smile lighting up her leaf green eyes, “She’s already answered much of it, and what she doesn’t know I doubt you would, silly. Was this the surprise you had for me?”

“Well, no—” Surprise. Right. He reached for his harness, pulling out the long-stemmed flower. The thorns dug into his skin as his hand tightened in shock, drawing blood even as the mako burned to heal it back up— _No._

The petals fell to the ground, dislodged by the impromptu wrestling session. “I—I—”

The red flower his guardian had left behind—the one Zack had at last decided to give to his girlfriend. Crushed.

“Oh, Zack…” Aerith’s hands closed gently around his. Zack couldn’t see anything except the battered flower, only a couple of petals clinging to the end of the stem. “I’m sure it was quite lovely.”

It was. Exotic and beautiful. One that he’d never before seen in this world.

And that made its loss so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone hasn't noticed, I posted a companion story called Even the Sun Must Set. It is just a short bit on how Ammy came to be bound to a summon materia. I hope to do that sort of thing for every cross-over summon I have in this fic. Except Kurama, since his will be looked into in this story.


	7. The Trials of Junon

Genesis clones!

The thought kept whirling through Zack’s mind as he ran, Angeal’s sword clenched in his sweaty hands. Blood dripped down the blade—he would have to clean it later. Angeal would _kill_ him if he’d seen the Buster Sword in such a state. He left the bodies of the Genesis clones where they’d fallen, trusting that Tseng and Cissnei and the other Turks would keep the residents of the city _away_ long enough for clean up to happen.

_Genesis clones…_

But Genesis was _dead_. Zack saw him _fall._

Right before Angeal…

No! Zack clenched his jaw, shaking his head. He had a job to do.

He finally made it to the emergency elevator—where did Tseng say the isolation facility was? Level three? He leaned against the wall, fist slamming into the button. The elevator shuddered, but it was built to withstand SOLDIER strength. After a few moments the light blinked on, and the machinery whirred to life.

**_Genesis clones._ **

Why? Why couldn’t this whole thing just be _over!?_

He buried his face in his fists, harsh breathing echoing in the small confined elevator. During the helicopter ride with the Turks he’d done his best to ignore it, ignore the frustration and pain growing inside since he’d killed those clones on the beach. And then it was running. Fighting…

Why? Why was Genesis alive when Angeal wasn’t!?

But he couldn’t let himself dwell on the situation. The elevator shuddered again, a small ding sounding in his ears. The doors slid open with a rusty screech, opening onto another street scene just like the one he’d left.

Only…instead of Genesis clones littering the pavement, they were SOLDIERS. Seconds. And Thirds. Dead right in front of him.

And in the middle was…

“Genesis!” Zack hefted the Buster Sword, falling into a fighting stance. His arms were shaking. The red-coated fugitive was hunched forward, and as Zack stepped out of the elevator, he rose, grey streaked auburn hair falling around a dead face. There was no expression at Zack’s appearance. No smirk. No quoted passages of _Loveless._

Not to mention that hulking sword was _nothing_ like the elegant rapier the _real_ Genesis favored.

“No…a clone.” Zack shook his head, burying the questions he would have shouted at the real Genesis. There was no point. The clone wouldn’t answer.

The fight was short. The Genesis clone died, slumped over the Buster Sword. Blood trickled down from where the blade pierced the clone’s chest, causing Zack to flinch, flicking the sword to throw the body to the ground. It seemed…wrong. Genesis was Angeal’s _friend._ Even if it were a clone…he looked like Genesis.

“Sir!”

The shout drew Zack’s attention away from the disconcerting image, and Zack turned, clipping his sword back into the harness. A SOLDIER Third was sprinting toward him from the shadows of the building. Zack was torn between reprimanding him for hiding, and glad that he did. If he hadn’t, he would have likely been yet another corpse in the street.

“Hollander has escaped the detention center!”

Damn it. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

“Where’d he go?”

The SOLDIER flinched, gesturing further down the way—“There’s a gate at the end of this level—he slipped out since our security was spread thin—these…things have been attacking all over the city!”

“Got it! You take care of the wounded—I think a couple of them might be alive.” Zack gestured to the bodies—he thought he’d seen one of the SOLDIERS near the edge of the street stir. “I’m going after Hollander.”

“Sir!” The SOLDIER snapped to attention, “The gates are operated by a switch—take my keycard, I won’t need it.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the piece of plastic, slipping it into the pocket of his uniform. A breath, and he was off running again. Hollander had a head start. Sure the scientist was nowhere near as fast as a SOLDIER, but…

The timing was too good. Genesis clones attacking Junon. Hollander slipping out. It couldn’t be coincidence. Tseng had speculated they were after the scientist…

There! Ahead! A spec of white stood out in the light from the sun, setting over the ocean.

“Oi! Hollander! Stop!”

The pudgy man slowed, throwing a look over his shoulder. He saw Zack, spat, and sped up—reaching a control panel near the gate. It ground open—Zack put on a burst of speed.

A Genesis Clone dropped between the two, blocking the path.

The gate slid shut after Hollander scurried in, the light on the panel turning red to indicate it was locked. Zack lunged for it, only to have the clone joined by another, those too large swords swinging directly in his path. Zack pivoted, rolling out of the way of one, pulling up the Buster Sword to deflect the other.

They waited between him and the panel. The meaning was clear. They weren’t going to let him near it.

His mind wandered to his bracer—to the two summon materia slotted into the metal sockets. He could summon one to distract the clones, and then make a break for the panel…

No. He didn’t need to call them for these small fries.

“Che. Fine. I’ll take you out first.”

The chase had begun.

x-x-x

 

Zack panted, leaving the robots piles of scrap metal behind him. He couldn’t believe it—Hollander had tried to pull that trick. He had to grudgingly admit that it worked. As if Zack could let them get at the civilians. Cloud and Tseng were in there, and so were a couple Thirds—but these machines could take down a SOLDIER if they got lucky.

Now they were nothing more than rubble, and Hollander was heading toward the airstrip. He _couldn’t_ let him get away. Like he’d told Tseng—Hollander was _his_ responsibility.

He slammed the keycard into the reader, tapping his foot impatiently as the gate opened, slipping through the moment it gave him enough room. Junon as a whole was a very cramped city, the buildings crowded between streets just wide enough for ShinRa’s military vehicles. The airstrip, however, seemed _expansive_ in comparison. Helicopters and ShinRa’s hulking short-range transport planes were lined up neatly on one end of the runway. He could see Hollander in the sunset—a dark splotch skittering _away_ from the transportations, toward the end of the —what was he playing at? That was a _cliff._ There was nowhere to _go._

Zack moved to give chase, but the hanger doors behind him rumbled, the hulking footsteps of another mech climbing its way out of the darkness of Junon into the open air.

 _“Damn._ ” Zack muttered, watching the scorpion guard mech survey the area, his hope withering as it zeroed in on him. It had the ShinRa company logo on it! What was it about this company and getting its security hijacked!? When would the prized robotic guards ever come to _his_ aid?

He could take care of it easily enough…but…

He reached for the summon materia he’d set into his sword. He’d promised his guardian that he’d only summon him if he absolutely needed him. Zack could take care of this guy easily—but he might lose Hollander if he wasn’t fast enough. Luckily he had another option now. She didn’t seem to mind less life-threatening summons.

“ _Amaterasu!”_ The foreign name felt strange on his tongue, but the materia blazed to life. A wolf’s howl echoed through the open air—and Zack could see Hollander freeze mid step—the time dilation had kicked in. Zack forced himself to move, inch by inch he turned toward the source of the howl. The snow white wolf stood on the roof of the hanger, and that strange double-vision assaulted Zack one again. For a moment he could see streaks of red marring white fur, fire flaring behind her as she bounded from the roof to the concrete floor of the runway—the concrete cracking as grass forced its way up through the barrier. He stared at the green spot, so out of place in this city of metal and stone, but forced his eyes to meet the wolf’s deep black ones.

“Hey Ammy…” The nickname felt more _natural_ , “Mind giving me a hand here?”

She tilted her head, the vision fading, once more just a simple white wolf. A glance at the frozen mech, and then back to Zack. Then she sat down on her haunches, one forepaw raised expectantly. He laughed, finding it easier as the slowdown began to fade—the gigantic scorpion machine beginning to twitch toward him, “Oh don’t worry about this guy—I’ll take care of him. But—you’re fast right?”

She nodded.

“There’s a man in a white coat—do you think you could catch him for me?”

She barked, her tail wagging excitedly as she sprang off—with that move the world returned to normal. Zack dodged out of the way as the giant mech’s tail slammed into the pavement, drawing the unwieldy Buster Sword and swiping at the nearest leg—leaving a gash in the armor plating, but nothing more. The weapons department was getting better. Still. It was just a machine. He activated one of the green magic materia on his sword, thrusting his hand into the air and releasing the charged magic, “Thundaga!”

The lightning bolt crashed into the mech, the weakened leg buckling, but it stabilized. It should have done more damage than that! The mech drew most of the energy into one of its mounted canons. It started sparking.

“Geez! Hit the deck!” Zack threw himself to the ground as the canon exploded, sending the gathered energy in a beam that barely missed the tips of Zack’s hair. He rolled, shifting his weight as he jumped back to his feet. He brought the Buster Sword around in front of him, angling it to block the spray of bullets the scorpion mech unleashed as its follow up. The shells pinged against the metal, his arms shaking with each impact. A hot flare of pain dug into his shoulder—the Buster Sword was big, but not big enough to block _everything._

He flared the Restore materia, the healing energy closing the wound and giving him the use of his arm back. He would need to get the bullet removed by a medic later, but for now this would be enough.

Back on his feet, he used both hands to swing at the machine’s injured leg, the motion and strain on his shoulder causing the bullet wound to spike with pain. The sword dug deep, the second blow severing the fuel and energy lines, making it completely useless.

One of the other legs swiped at him, the impact jarring him and knocking him back and away from the mech, away from the purple energy that began to form a dome-like barrier around the machine. He landed strangely, a bolt of pain flaring through his left leg as it twisted with his momentum. This time it was the burn of the mako that overwhelmed the pain, once more patching up any damage the motion had caused.

He shot a glance down the runway—the mech didn’t seem keen on moving while the purple shield was going—and easily spotted the splotch of white against the red-orange sky. Black specks circled above her—two humanoid figures, with black wings. Clones. They _had_ to be. Of course. So Genesis _was_ after Hollander. He’d probably intended to snatch the scientist from the runway in the confusion!

Hollander—where was he? The wolf stood guard in front of a cocoon of green, grasses growing wild through cracked concrete, binding something within the struggling leaves. The wolf jumped, far higher than she should be able to—something pulled on Zack’s magic, that double vision flaring again, red streaks and flaming disks, and swirling beads shot toward the nearest Genesis copy.

It crashed to the ground, glowing blue beads retracting to spin lazily around the wolf as she landed. One copy remained. It dived at the mass of green, but a sudden gust of wind knocked it off course. Zack felt the drain on his magic again—Amaterasu was doing _that!?_

 _“_ Not a combat summon, my foot.” Zack shook his head in wonder. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t had battle the wolf days ago. The hum of Zack’s enemy’s shield died, forcing his attention away from the fight with the Genesis copies, and back to the wounded mech, “I better hurry before I get shown up.”

He ignored the little drains on his magic, ruling materia out—the last thing he needed was to run out of MP and lose Ammy. The mech’s tail was glowing ominously, and Zack had a feeling those arm canons weren’t the only weapons the scorpion had.

His instinct was right. He jumped forward, dodging the laser that tore into the floor where he’d been standing. It left a jagged scar in the concrete, the cackling and searing energy almost drowning out the cheerful ring of his PHS. He dropped his sword into his injured hand, reaching for the small machine, “I’m a little _busy._ “

“You better thank your lucky stars,” Cissnei’s teasing voice came over the line, the whir of helicopter blades filling the air, “Tseng’s on the way. I suggest you duck.”

Zack froze. And then bolted, putting as much space between him and the mech as he could.

The air strike came falling from the sky mere moments later, the mechanized scorpion being reduced to a pile of molten slag and scrap. A wave of searing heat chased Zack as he ran down the runway—for a moment he wondered how Tseng was going to explain the damage to the other helicopters and planes, but decided it didn’t matter.

That was above his pay grade.

The shockwave picked him up off his feet and he rolled the rest of the way, coming to a stop and covering his head to avoid the rocks and debris kicked up by the explosion. Once the roar of the fire died to a whimper he peeked out of his protective ball only to have his vision obscured by white fur.

“…Ammy?”

The wolf barked, wagging her tail cheerily.

Zack picked himself up, looking over the burning wreckage where he’d been fighting just a few moments ago. The helicopter responsible hovered over the battle field like a vulture circling a dead body, surveying the scene—the downdraft from the rotors only serving to fan the flames.

“Geez. For such a quiet guy, Tseng sure is flashy.” He muttered, a cheery bark grabbing his attention again. Zack scratched Ammy behind the ear, “Didja get him?”

Her tail thumped against the ground, two dead Genesis copies at her feet, and a furious scientist bound in grass behind her.

Zack grinned. “Good job.”

x-x-x

 

Sephiroth surveyed the wreckage, automatically taking stock of the damage that had been done. One trillion gil Weapons department prototype, reduced to a pile of scrap. Three helicopters, and one transport ship—also in need of repairs.

He sighed at the thought of the reports he would have to write up once he returned to Midgar.

“This is coming out of your paycheck.” He projected his voice across the runway, shaking his head as his long steps ate up the rubble covered concrete. His estimations of the damage didn’t even cover the damage done to the airstrip, or the munitions the Turks used to bring down the mech.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one to unleash a whole load of missiles on it!” The response came back, but Zack didn’t move. Sephiroth raised an eyebrow—was the SOLDIER hurt more than he’d expected? Zack was a good SOLDIER. At least he was healthy enough to shout, “Talk to Tseng—Cissnei said he was responsible for that mess!”

A vague wave in the direction of the wreckage. Sephiroth snorted. It was a SOLDIER mission. SOLDIER would be stuck with the bill. “That excuse won’t fly.” He came up beside the SOLDIER, quirking an eyebrow at the mess of white and black amidst the rubble, “What is this, SOLDIER?”

“This?” Zack glanced up, shooting Sephiroth one of his sheepish grins, but he didn’t stop petting the giant…thing sprawled across his lap. The animal lifted its head at Sephiroth’s approach—red stained white fur around its eyes and face—blood? No. The strokes were too neat, too deliberate to be blood. Some sort of canine, Sephiroth noted, marking the similarity in structure to the dogs he’d seen around Midgar—kept as both pets and guards. “This is Amaterasu. She caught Hollander for me—didn’t ya girl?”

The beast raised its head, eyes closing and tongue lolling contentedly under Zack’s scratches.

The name clicked, reminding Sephiroth of the reports he’d gotten from the materia department just days before. A non-combat summon—seemed to be based off the Nibel Wolves found outside Nibelhiem. The report hadn’t said anything about markings, or the green disk hovering inches from its back. That was wreathed in flames. Flames that were licking harmlessly on Zack’s shirt. “And why is she still here?”

Zack shrugged, “I figured it’d be better to keep Hollander…tied up. This seemed to be the easiest way.” He kicked at the mass of…green? At his feet. It squirmed, the person inside the bonds making muffled protests and drawing Sephiroth’s attention. He studied it closer, his eyebrow threatening to climb off his face when he realized that yes, the scientist was held hostage by over-large plants. He could even see cracks in the concrete where the plants had forced their way through. The magic of summons always went over Sephiroth’s head. Genesis had always been interested in that sort of thing.

“Interesting…application of a summon materia.” Sephiroth commented, “I must commend you on this success. Did you kill the copies as well?”

“Nah. That’s Ammy’s work too. Tseng was right—they were after Hollander. If it weren’t for Ammy they’d have snatched him right off the edge of the runway with none the wiser.”

Interesting. Either Zack hadn’t reported all the strengths of the materia he tested, or there was more to this summon than met the eye. She seemed to preen under Zack’s praise, chest puffing out with pride and giving off a happy bark. “Well, dismiss your summon—the Turks will be here soon to take him back into custody. This wasn’t the only place the copies hit.” Sephiroth paused, carefully gauging Zack’s reaction to the next bit of news, “Midgar came under attack as well.”

As expected the SOLDIER froze, the wolf whining as his scratching stopped. Almost reluctantly, the wolf dissolved into motes of starlight, the grasses shuddering, and then wilting right before their eyes.

Suddenly released, Hollander struggled to his feet, only to be stopped in his tracks as Sephiroth’s hand shot out and snagged him by his arm. The man gulped, looking up into Sephiroth’s deliberately cold face, “S-Sephiroth. H-how nice to s-see you--!”

“Quiet!” He snapped, turning back to Zack as the SOLDIER struggled to his feet. He was limping, and his movements were stiff as he attempted to snap into a salute, “Sir!” Wince. “Requesting permission to return to Midgar.”

“Permission granted.” Sephiroth grunted, handing the scientist off into the care of the red-headed lady Turk who came by to take over. He watched with amusement as the man tried to use his greater bulk and twist free, only to have Cissnei casually and effortlessly adjust her hold to kill any leverage he might have gained. “But see to that shoulder first. It will take at least an hour before the runway will be clear enough for a helicopter to take off safely.”

“Yessir!”

Sephiroth watched Zack limp off thoughtfully. He’d never really been interested in Summon Materia before—they’d always been banned from his and Genesis’ battles. He hadn’t known them to be so…interesting. He’d seen them across the battlefield once or twice, and they’d acted much like very large spells. Not like…that.

Perhaps once everything settled down he’d but in a request to field test Zack’s new summon. The materia department had originally requested _him_ for the testing—Sephiroth had turned it down due to his mission to Modeohiem. Given how paranoid the President was likely to be after having most of his security out of the city when the attacks hit…He would probably be confined to Midgar for a while.

Unless Genesis showed up again.

x-x-x

A/N: Liiiiittle changes. I also went back and fixed the location of Aerith’s church. It is supposed to be Sector Five, not Six. If I missed any of the spots, let me know!

Now, to talk timelines. It is about 3 or 4 weeks since last chapter—two of those weeks being Zack’s forced vacation with Cissnei. This story will become much less episodic and more a consistent narrative from here on in.

So, I need to go back and edit Class-levels for Kurama and Hiei. I finally decided on the timeline for YYH. Originally I didn’t expect to need one—other than the glimpses we get of Hiei and Kurama the fic was _supposed_ to be focused on the FFVII world. Now…well…that’s changed somewhat. Kurama’s first summon back in chapter one was shortly after the Dark Tournament. It’s somewhere between the time between the tournament and whenever Sensui shows up. I have no idea how long that is in the actual anime/manga, but I’m calling artistic license that it was a good few months.

Hope ya’ll enjoyed the fic! Next chapter will be next Monday.

Next chapter title: _A Butterfly’s Wings_


	8. A Butterfly's Wings

“Hollander has escaped.”

The words that greeted Zack when he trudged into Sephiroth’s office—formerly Lazard’s—just succeeded in making Zack groan. He’d been called away from visiting Aerith for _this?_ Sephiroth’s expression didn’t change, but he did motion Zack to take the single chair on the other side of the desk. Zack thought about taking it, but shook his head—he’d have to unharness the Buster Sword and he didn’t like doing that unless he needed to.

“Suit yourself.” Sephiroth muttered, not even bothering to ask why. He’d probably grown used to the habit with Angeal. He shuffled a small stack of papers—one among _many_ that littered nearly every corner of the desk, “Due to a decrease in copy activity in Junon _someone_ decided the extra security forces surrounding Hollander’s detention facility would be better used investigating some out of the way mako reactor. Last night there was a break-in, and Hollander was lost in the confusion.”

“Geez.” Zack scratched at his head, “After all that work to catch the guy…I TOLD them Genesis wanted him.”

“And Genesis doesn’t give up so easily.” Sephiroth nodded, “Security tapes confirm that it was at least a Genesis copy. There isn’t any audio, but it does portray the two talking for a good few minutes, so the chances of it being the original…”

“He IS alive…” Zack muttered, a hollow empty feeling creeping into his chest at that thought. He’d suspected—how else would they still have Genesis copies running around the place? They were too unstable to have just been leftovers. They wouldn’t have lasted this long. But it was a different feeling suspecting, and then having it confirmed.

“Indeed.” Sephiroth agreed, “We’ve also had word from the team I left guarding Modeoheim—around the same time a raid was made on Hollander’s old lab. They managed to fight it off, but some equipment appears to have been taken. Intelligence seems to believe he’s setting up another base of operations.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it…but…why are you telling me all this?” Zack scuffed his boot against the floor, uncomfortably. He wasn’t Angeal. He wasn’t one of the SOLDIER Elites. He didn’t handle most of the heavy thinking or planning aspects of the mission. Not…this.

“You are a good SOLDIER, Zack.” Sephiroth responded after a moment of silence, the sudden compliment causing Zack to shift uncertainly under the praise, “You’ve been involved in this…disaster of a situation since nearly the beginning, and you’ve surprised everyone with your ingenuity and your judgments during battle. You’ve come a long way since I had to save you from Ifrit.”

“Hey, I could’ve finished him off!” Zack sputtered indignantly, but his outrage quickly melted into an easy smile as he saw the worry-lines ease from Sephiroth’s face, his overblown reaction coaxing a rare chuckle from the silver-haired Elite. “Really! I had an ace up my sleeve!”

“I’m sure you did.” There was even a note of indulgent teasing in Sephiroth’s tone—faint, but there. Zack counted his job well done. But the diversion couldn’t last for long, “I felt you had a right to know what was going on. Things seem to be coming to a head all at once. I know you’ve just returned to Midgar, but if the situation changes…”

He’d have to leave again.

He’d been so _busy_ since Angeal died. Mission after mission—most out of the city. When he’d finally gotten a break, he’d been stuck on extended forced leave for nearly two weeks. It had been nice, for the first few days. Cissnei was both lovely company and a good friend, and the beach was warm and the weather wonderful…

But he’d found himself missing Midgar. Specifically a worn down old church in the Sector Five slums. In Costa del Sol, flowers were plentiful. They were large, and vibrantly colored—bright pinks, blues, and yellows—in nearly every window box and flower pot. But even they couldn’t hold a candle to the beauty he’d found growing in the dirt beneath the cracked floorboards, tended and cared for by the sweetest, most wonderful girl he’d ever met.

It had only been three days since he’d left Junon. The first had been spent traveling. Two since he’d been able to spend time with her again. That short amount of time…would never be enough.

But…

Zack gathered his resolve, “If you need me, just call. I want to see the end of this as much as you do.”

In the end, Sephiroth was the only one more invested in this situation than Zack was. He’d lost both his friends—one to madness, the other to death. He’d taken on Lazard’s job when the man disappeared—their former director now widely considered a traitor. He and Zack were the only remaining First Class SOLDIERs—and the program was stretched too thin to field promote any of the more promising Seconds until the Exams. They _needed_ more SOLDIERs.

“I can give you a three day reprieve at least.” Sephiroth said with a sigh, “That should be enough time to hear back _something_ from the investigation. After that, I can’t promise anything. So long as you complete the proper reports regarding Junon, I won’t stop you from leaving work early if you wish.”

Three days. Three days to spend with Aerith. To enjoy the time he had, before possibly being sent out on another mission.

“Understood. Thank you sir.”

It was nowhere near enough time, but he would take it.

“Sometimes I wonder…” Zack stopped, hand on the door’s latch. Sephiroth’s voice was quiet, “If Genesis hadn’t been so intent on sabotaging our efforts…Could we have helped them?”

Nearly a third of their manpower—gone. Raids on both Science and Medical stockpiles and facilities... Fostering general bad will with the upper management of the company—by that point ShinRa would have refused any request for aid out of spite. But if he hadn’t…

If he hadn’t…would the company have pulled out all the stops to save two of its Elites? Two of its most powerful SOLDIERS?

The metal in his grip buckled, cracking as the force of his grip overwhelmed the reinforced steel.

If Genesis hadn’t decided to take everything down with him…

“I believe we could have saved them.” Zack turned, catching Sephiroth’s gaze and holding it, “I may not know him as well, but Genesis gave up the moment he defected. I saw it with Angeal—they _gave up. If I’m going to die, I’m going to do something with my death._ Angeal died to teach me a lesson—that deep down, all humans are monsters if we let go of our honor. Our dreams. It is our dreams that make us human.”

“Genesis claims he’s fighting for a cure, but if he was he would have come to _us._ You at least. There are more scientists in this company than I can shake a stick at, many more experienced or intelligent than Hollander who would have helped if for no other reason than to gain the praise and renown from saving two of the company’s best. In the end he decided to alienate his friends. He decided to let the world burn. He _wants_ a dramatic death. You know him better than I do—if he can’t be the hero; he’s going to play the role of the villain.”

“ _My friend, the fates are cruel_

_There are no dreams, no honor remains_

_The arrow has left, the bow of the Goddess”_

The words sounded so…strange. Zack had heard Genesis quote the lines before—his voice full of passion. To hear them so…monotone. Subdued. Sephiroth was staring at the papers on his desk, his eyes unfocused. To hear them like that…it sounded so sad.

_“My soul, corrupted by vengeance_

_Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey_

_In my own salvation_

_And your eternal slumber”_

Sephiroth shook his head, “Loveless. Act IV. I’ve heard Genesis quote the play hundreds of times…I could recite the entire thing if I needed too.”

But he didn’t. Zack couldn’t say any more, head nodding dumbly. It hurt too much. Everything he’d said hurt to say. It forced him to admit that, no matter how he’d fought, he wouldn’t have been able to save Angeal. Genesis had closed the door the moment he decided to turn away from his friends, locking both of them outside. Angeal had known that. He’d known that the only way to save himself…would be by sacrificing that which he held above everything. In order to stay by his friend’s side, he would have to betray his other. To live, he would have had to live a monster, while his honor lay shattered around him.

So he’d given up, and died in Zack’s arms.

Genesis wanted to kill Sephiroth. Angeal had died.

Zack had Aerith’s shoulder to cry on. Her voice to soothe him.

Sephiroth was alone.

“I mean it.” Zack said suddenly, “Call me. If you need me. Not just for missions.”

Sephiroth didn’t say anything.

“I know I’ll never replace them. I don’t want to.” The words just began spilling out, he barely even thought about it before they were out of his hands, “But no one deserves to be alone like this. You’ve been isolating yourself. Even _I_ can see it. You’ve lost _weight_. _”_

Those blue-green eyes hardened, face settling into an impervious mask. Zack flinched—had he overstepped? Of course he had—First or not, Sephiroth was technically his superior. He was acting Director. Zack had just spent the last twenty minutes lecturing the man about how his friends were _gone._ It was insensitive at best.

“I will take your words into consideration.” Sephiroth’s tone was cool, and Zack ducked his head in acknowledgement of the unspoken reprimand, “Now go—I’m sure you have some business to return to in the slums. If I recall, there was a woman humming in the background when I called earlier.”

Zack flushed, clicking his heels together and flashing Sephiroth a stiff salute—the bullet had been removed from his shoulder, but the magically healed wound was still sore, and the scar tissue resisted the motion painfully. He turned to leave; again gripping the mangled mess he’d left the handle earlier.

“Zack.” Sephiroth’s voice stopped him, “I will be in the training room at 0600 tomorrow morning, if you were serious about your offer. I haven’t had a good spar since…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Sephiroth had told Zack about his last real spar. Where Genesis got hurt—and then never really healed.

“I’ll be there!”

 

x-x-x

 

 

Another simulation? Youko grimaced as he took in the distinct _lack_ of smell as the mists solidified. He’d _hoped_ Zack’s promise that he would only summon him for something important would have prevented these kinds of battles. It was…unnerving. Even in his human body he had keener than average senses, and his true form sharpened them significantly.

The setting wasn’t the same forest he’d been in the other two times—instead it was an urban setting, with ramshackle houses lining the side of the wide street. His nose wrinkled instinctively; on second thought he was glad he couldn’t smell it. It looked filthy, like the more impoverished parts of a demon city where some of his most valued informants had once been found—in another life.

Youko crossed his arms and turned to the black-haired swordsman at his side, he made sure to make his displeasure known. He hated being so obtuse, but there was no other way to communicate. Zack was somewhat slow.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!” The swordsman responded, breath heaving, arms shaking from the effort of holding his sword. Youko raised an eyebrow at the sweat trickling down his face, at the blood smearing his arm. He seemed pretty calm for looking like that. He tilted his head, throwing a pointed look at the floating red dots that cordoned off either end of the street. It was a _simulation._

“Ya’see my superior wanted to see my summons and I said that I didn’t like summoning them for less than emergencies so he decided to try and take my head off and then—”

“Zack.” The voice cut off Zack’s rambling words. “What is this?”

Youko’s ear flicked toward the unfamiliar tones, turning slowly. His curious stare met with a similar one. The other man was tall, perhaps even taller than Youko. That was unusual. He immediately took stock of the long silver hair, and faintly glowing cat-slitted blue/green eyes. Long black coat, a long, VERY long, curved blade gleaming in his left hand. A spar then? With Zack looking like that and this man hadn’t even broken a sweat… Zack was no push over. He would easily be able to keep up with Yuusuke from what Youko had seen (and fought against on one or two occasions.)

Attention grabbed, he stalked closer. Something felt…off about this man. The simulations dulled his senses, clogging his nose with the overwhelming smell of _Life_ and the feel of magic _._ But there was something else. Youko had assumed Zack was human—or this world’s equivalent despite the magic burning in his eyes and the strength in his body. But this man…was different. Or was different normal? Different—different from Zack anyway. Youko hadn’t had much chance to observe anyone other than his summoner. His enemies were usually monsters, and there had been Angeal, Zack’s mentor…Was Zack the norm? Or was he merely the reference Youko was using?

Those cat-slit eyes followed him as he circled the silver-haired man, studying Youko almost as much as he was being studied.

“Er, Sephiroth, this is the other summon I was talking about.” _Other?_ Youko filed that note away. He knew Zack had spoken of summons in a plural before—did he have contact with one other than Youko? Zack then directed his attention from the silver-haired man to a silver-haired demon, “And this is Sephiroth, he’s my superior officer. _He’s_ the one who tried to kill me.”

There was the hint of a grudge hiding beneath the surface of Zack’s last line. Sephiroth didn’t seem to twitch at the accusation. He even seemed faintly amused, given the hint of a smile. Perhaps this time wouldn’t be as fruitless as Youko had been expecting.

“Hmph. Perhaps the both of you will be more of a challenge than you alone. I _am_ used to a three-way spar.”

He settled into an odd stance, and Youko shook his head in disbelief—he was holding that six-foot blade at shoulder height! Without it wavering—perfectly still. Controlled. That would have been awkward at best, and beyond human strength if he were being reasonable.

Then again _Zack_ swung around his huge unwieldy sword with an ease that Youko had only ever seen with people like Kuwabara, whose weapon was literally an extension of their energy, and thus weightless.

Youko brushed a hand through his hair, fingertips brushing against the stores of seeds clinging to the strands. He lingered over the hungry poisonous seed. He’d needed this in order to even _hurt_ Zack’s mentor, but this wasn’t a battle to the death so he passed over it in favor of his usual roses.

Sephiroth’s brow rose when Youko coaxed the flower into bloom, the fox settling into a confident smirk. Perhaps a spar would be fun.

He felt Zack’s intention without anything being said, and prepared accordingly.

Zack charged. A twist of youki and magic shifted the bloom from flower to thorny vines, and the battle was on.

x-x-x

“Alright! Alright!” Zack panted, leaning against the Buster Sword, his legs wobbling beneath him like they were suddenly made of jelly. His eyes were locked on the two figures locked into a dance in the center of the clearing. His summon was far faster than even Sephiroth, and Zack had lost track of the number of different plants he’d used over the course of the fight. There was his whip of course, Zack thought he’d seen that weird red tree at one point—he’d even summoned these weird multicolored leaves that acted as wings! “I don’t think I can take any more of this!”

He’d fallen behind long ago, and had been content to just wait on the side-lines. But each time the summon put on a particularly large burst of speed, grew one of his plants, or had to heal up one of the myriad of wounds left behind by Sephiroth’s Masamune it drained his magic. He was surprised he was still conscious by now. Sephiroth might not be as fast, but he knew how to take advantage of his longer than usual reach.

“You aren’t even doing anything. Just sit down and be quiet.” Sephiroth’s answer was clipped, and Zack could see the mako glow in his eyes darkening to a near pure green from the intensity of his glare. Masamune nicked Zack’s summon before he could twist out of the way , leaving a shallow gash along the side that quickly began to re-knit, wisps of blue mist rising from the closing wound. There was no blood. There had never been any blood.

A wave of dizziness assaulted him, and Zack stumbled. The summon froze, outline fuzzing. Masamune stabbed through the summon’s chest, the momentary instability resulting in a failed dodge. The mists scattered, distorting as they tried to reform around the sword, sucking on Zack’s dwindling energy. Sephiroth withdrew his blade, glancing between the dissolving summon and Zack. Zack was lying dazed on the ground by now—he had a pretty decent pool of magic according to his evals, especially since he’d started using materia and his summons more often, but he’d _never_ felt so drained before. He wondered, hazily, what would happen if one ran out of magic completely?

A shadow loomed over him, and Zack struggled to make his eyes focus. Two heads of silver hair hovered over him—was he seeing double? No. One had blue-green eyes, the other gold. They did look very similar, Zack decided, his mind wandering, babbling. At least his guardian hadn’t vanished…he did look vaguely see-through though. As if he were fading just like everything else. Like Sephiroth’s words. He was saying something. What was he saying? Everything sounded so far away…

His guardian glanced at his superior, and then rolled his eyes, taking something from Sephiroth that Zack couldn’t quite make out. It was dark against dark leather. Suddenly Zack felt a jolt of dejavu, a clawed hand snaking its way through his hair, lifting and tilting his head up off the ground. Something pressed against his lips.

The liquid was freezing as it raced down his throat, giving him a jolt of energy, clearing up the haze building around his mind. The summon was giving him an exasperated expression, and Zack allowed him to prop him up, swaying as he sought to find his balance again. He _felt_ solid, and Zack could see him gaining definition and space as the wound finished closing up. The drain was there—his magic working to repair what by all rights should have been a fatal blow—but whatever he’d been given seemed to have replenished his magic reserves significantly.

Sephiroth was standing before him, arms crossed. Zack suddenly flushed, realizing he’d nearly fainted in front of his superior. It was bad enough he hadn’t been able to give Sephiroth a decent spar, but he’d definitely not ended it on a good note—

“We’ve found a disadvantage to relying on this.” Sephiroth said flatly, accepting the empty vessel from the summon as he passed it back, “Make sure you keep a large supply of Ethers or Elixirs on hand. Down them if you notice the summon taking a serious injury. Maybe even look into one of the magic-regen accessories ShinRa has recently been working on. If the summoning ends when you run out of magic, then it limits the possibilities of a last-ditch effort—”

“He’s guarded me when I’ve passed out before!” Zack protested, but shut his mouth at Sephiroth’s irritated look.

“Were your magic reserves this depleted then? He appears to be capable of working independently of your will, so it would be logical that he wouldn’t need you to be conscious, just that you would need to have the magic available to sustain the spell.” Sephiroth traded glances with the summon Zack was leaning on. Zack blinked. He hadn’t thought of that. “If you wish to specialize in summon materia—as it appears since you have signed out over half the company’s stores—” Zack blushed at that. It wasn’t his fault he kept finding them! “Then you will have to take precautions. They are powerful, but costly. There are known methods for increasing your magic capacity—use them. There is another thing Gene—Materia Specialists learn early on, and that is to _know when to stop.”_

Zack blinked. Confused. “What…?”

“Why is he still here?” Sephiroth indicated the summon with a tilt of his head, who was watching the exchange with amused curiosity, “The battle is over, and his presence is draining your already low magic reserves. You should have banished him the moment you realized your magic was nearly depleted, if not sooner, to buy you time to either replenish, or get away from the battle. Being a good SOLDIER also involves managing your resources efficiently, so you can remain in decent fighting condition.”

“I don’t know how!” Zack blurted out, shooting an apologetic glance at his summon. He hated talking about him like this. Like he wasn’t even there “He’s always just left on his own.”

Sephiroth obviously didn’t believe him as he glanced at the summon, before asking, “Would you mind?”

Zack’s guardian shrugged, and then caught Zack’s attention, flashing three fingers at him.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Zack sighed, “Three days at least.”

A curt nod and a cheery wave at Sephiroth and the summon collapsed into blue mists. Zack immediately felt the small drain fade, and then stop completely. He wouldn’t even have noticed it if his reserves weren’t so low. Sephiroth turned back to him, pulling Zack to his unsteady feet with a tight grip, “That will be the first thing you need to learn should you specialize in materia. How to end sustained spells on command. SOLDIERs have died from extended magic exhaustion. It is one of the reasons few choose to specialize in materia. Weapons and physical strength are more reliable.”

“Thing is—ah,” Zack interrupted his superior officer, almost losing his train of thought as those hard blue-green eyes snapped to him, “Is…uh…For…uh…Silver and Ammy I can keep them summoned for a long, long time. I hardly even feel them.”

“Silver?” Sephiroth sounded amused. Zack scowled, “What? I haven’t found his name yet. I don’t think he’d appreciate Fluffy.”

“Regardless of what you call it, I assume you identifying those two—Ammy is Ameterasu, correct? The wolf based summon?—specifically means the others do not operate the same?”

Zack nodded, and then continued. “My other summons—Ifrit and the like—are more like a spell. They have a huge initial drain, and then have two methods of attack. Either a huge initial burst of damage, or a limited amount of time manifested before they end on their own, depending on why I summon them.” Zack _had_ been thinking a lot about his summons recently. Should he do what Sephiroth was suggesting? _Specialize_ in materia? Angeal had been training him specifically down the more usual route, weapon skills and strength. Materia were supposed to be used sparingly, to support those skills, but Angeal hardly ever used them.

Thinking about it, the idea of relying on his summons itched at him. He didn’t think it fair to his two favorites—plucking them out of whatever it was they did when not called by the materia—and he just didn’t like the idea of letting someone (or something) else fight his battles for him. Specializing in summon materia…No. It left a sour taste in his mouth. He would fight. He would fight with his own two hands. His own sword. _Angeal’s_ sword.

But…It _was_ his magic. It had been _his_ magic fueling Sephiroth and Silver’s— _Gaea_ that was a horrid nickname—battle.

No. He wouldn’t hide behind his summons. But…they were his partners. He supported them. They protected him. But…how could he keep his promise with what just happened? Sephiroth had charged him, face set and eyes cold with that intent to kill and…the materia had burst to light. He didn’t mean to initiate the summon. He _should_ have summoned Ammy. Ammy was the one Sephiroth had _wanted_ to see. She didn’t seem to mind the calls so much as his guardian did.

Yet…it had been the silver-haired summon that reacted. It was his guardian he reached for in his moment of panic.

He shook his head when Sephiroth motioned him to continue, he’d think about that later, “Anyway. Ammy and Silver are different. They are sustained summons—no time limit from what I can tell. So long as they decide to hang around, they will. But every time they use anything more than physical abilities…it drains. A little magic, or a lot. It seems to depend on the ability. They are also independent of specific orders, although they tend to agree with what I ask of them.” Except with Angeal. He’d _forced_ that. He _could_ force them. He didn’t want to. Not anymore. Zack waited, unconsciously slipping into parade rest. This whole discussion reminded him of his training sessions with Angeal, where his mentor would run down the flaws in his sparring, the openings in his guards, and offer advice and—Zack shuddered— _homework._

“Interesting choice of words…” It was quiet, almost hummed, “Decide. Agree. And how you treat them, wasting time with idle conversation and shows of affection…Almost as if you believe them _alive_.”

Zack hesitated. He would have to be careful with this. “…Yes sir. They understand and communicate, if limited to mostly non-verbal fashion.” It was odd. Ammy could bark, and howl. Animal sounds. But his guardian couldn’t even _laugh._

“Hm. The scientific community will not believe you.” Neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his conclusion. Sephiroth’s normally impassive face seemed…troubled.

“I understand that, sir.” Zack responded honestly. He had no intention of _telling_ them either. “I agree with general knowledge when it comes to the better documented summons. Odin and Bahamut have been around for _ages,_ and they’d been studied to death. They have well documented attack patterns _._ But these two…there has been no record of a summon matching their descriptions. I’ve checked.” Oh yes, he’d checked. It had been the first place he’d looked when he decided to try and figure out his Guardian’s name. “But I found the materia, so I shall treat them as I see fit.”

Sephiroth snorted, “Do not forget that the materia is still technically company property.” Zack shrugged. He’d rather…“lose” the materia before he turned it back in, but he wasn’t quite stupid enough to say that to his commanding officer. Even if Sephiroth agreed with him, he’d be duty-bound to report him, “…but you are correct, they are your weapons. Given how Angeal treated that sword, I suppose this isn’t too much different. I even had to threaten you to get you to _use_ it.”

Sephiroth shook his head and snapped a command to the sky, and the simulation ended, the city-scape dissolving around them and leaving them in the bare white training room again. Zack always marveled that anything done in the training sim never seemed to effect the room. Torn ground melted away. Ruined buildings and piles of debris faded, leaving not a scratch on the clean structure. He knew it ran off of a matrix of a materia, but it just left him dizzy just thinking about it.

“Keep my suggestions in mind, Zack. We do not have many SOLDIERs who decide to focus on materia, summon or no. It is a pity that our best Materia Specialist deserted—he would have been fascinated by all this…”

Sephiroth shook his head, stepping out of the room. The door sliding shut behind him.

Best Materia Specialist…

Zack thought back to his materia class. The guest lecturer. Red hair. Red coat.

Did he really want to follow _Genesis?_

He shrugged, rubbing his thumb against the smooth orb in his bracer. It was still warm. Still bright. It never died. Not like the others.

Even if he didn’t specialize…Sephiroth’s other suggestions were a good idea. His fighting style _was_ a mixture of sword and magic, after all.


	9. The Ripples Continue

Three days. Had it already been three days?

A glance at the calendar and a little mental arithmetic told Zack that it had actually been five. The days had been blurring together because of the lack of missions, the highlights of his day being visiting with Aerith after work and the now daily spar with Sephiroth. Aerith had had him running around looking for “cute” parts for her flower wagon—something that had Zack grumbling fondly under his breath about as he did so. Personally he’d liked the ShinRa wagon. It looked like someone Mini’d a tank. No wonder she hated it. He still needed to find some ribbons _somewhere_. Maybe he should go ask the girls at the Honeybee Inn? They sometimes wore ribbons. Not that he spent much time around the establishment, of course.

Zack nervously stared at the PHS he’d shoved half under a stack of papers on his desk. But that stack was now not much more than a few scattered sheets. Even though he’d been off the mission roster since returning to Midgar, he’d still had work. As much as he would have liked to spend a proper vacation with Aerith, at least this was something.

Sephiroth had said he could have three days. After that he couldn’t guarantee anything. Zack had expected some sort of email after the third day. Even if it was “Nothing of consequence. Carry on.”

After another hour of him attempting to get work done, he gave in and stood up, snatching the PHS and slipping it into its harness before striding out of the office. It was nagging at him. It would be better to just get it out of the way and _ask_ at this rate. He shuffled the papers around to obscure one or two more classified matters, and then left the office. His long strides ate up the distance between his and Sephiroth’s—they weren’t terribly far apart, but the SOLDIER first’s offices were down a little-used back hallway Zack hadn’t even known _existed_ before he’d been promoted. It was always eerily quiet back here. There were a handful of rooms. Only two others beyond his even showed _signs_ of recent use. He pointedly ignored the names still emblazoned on the name-plates, just as he’d done every time since he’d first come down this way. The doors would be locked. Had been since the desertion.

He knew what Angeal’s would look like if he could see it. Neat. Proper. He’d have a display stand for the Buster Sword. Perhaps a picture of his mother, or even of he and Genesis when they were younger. Maybe even one of the three Elites.

But…ShinRa would have removed any sensitive files or documents, relocating them into Lazard’s workload, and later to Sephiroth’s when the Director went AWOL. Had they just cleared out the entire office? If he could get inside, would there be anything left of Angeal to see?

Zack shook his head, clearing those thoughts as he reached the end of the hallway. He hesitated, and then rapped on the door gently with his knuckles. A muffled ‘come in’ came back, and Zack sucked in a fortifying breath and pushed inside.

The door opened into the large executive office, to the side of the main desk. Sephiroth glanced up in acknowledgement, and then tilted his head toward the chair at the front of his desk before returning to his work. Zack wouldn’t sit. He knew that by now. But he always offered.

Zack did move to the front of the desk however, falling into parade rest and waiting for Sephiroth to acknowledge him.

“At ease.” Sephiroth said at last, head still down, scribbling out his signature at the bottom of the sheet and slipping it onto the pile at his right. He let the pen clatter to the desk, folding his hands and looking up to meet Zack’s eyes. Zack felt himself relax at the command—ingrained military reactions—“Any news?”

“I had wondered when you would ask.” Sephiroth looked _tired._ And not the good, satisfied tired after a good work-out either. This was the worried tired. “No. Nothing concrete enough to warrant the president rescinding either of our recalls. I’m afraid you are still stuck in Midgar.”

“You know that isn’t why I want to go.” Zack said flatly, “If I was getting stir-crazy I’d just go clear out a monster nest. I’ve seen the mission requests from Urban Development, and no one else bothers to do them.”

They were too short staffed. The other SOLDIERs were all assigned to missions that had a greater importance to the company. It felt wrong to Zack, that the safety of the city came second to securing ShinRa’s assets or investigating the dwindling remains of the Crescent Unit. Investigating meaning eliminating. They weren’t even actively moving against ShinRa anymore—there were too few of them.

“I wish I could have that luxury.” Sephiroth eyed the work scattered—in organized chaos, of course—across the desk, and shook his head, “I do know that the team sent to track Lazard has gone missing, as had the SOLDIERs sent to investigate a little used Mako Reactor. Unfortunately the two occurrences are on two separate continents, and the Turks are being unusually tight lipped about their investigations. I do not know if Genesis and Hollander are involved. The complaints from the mako reactor sounded promising—increased frequency and potency of monster attacks on the nearby town.”

“Could be clones.” Zack muttered. It _did_ sound oddly like the mission request for Banora. Sephiroth acknowledged the remark with a tilt of his head, “Indeed. That was my thought at first. But the SOLIDERs sent back an additional report upon reaching the town, before heading to the reactor—they had run into some oversized Green Dragons on the way up the mountains. It appears to merely be run of the mill mutations.”

“If they took down a squad of SOLDIERs…” Granted, it likely had been two or three Thirds. Possibly a couple troopers for cover fire… “That’s pretty dangerous.”

“Yes. If it weren’t for our…situation…I would expect you or I to be sent as a follow up. If nothing else, the loss hurts our already thin ranks. I’ve already seen the request, but it is the same situation as the expedition to the Northern Crater. Without information on Genesis… The President is worried that since Genesis broke into the detention facility, he could possibly do the same here.”

“He’d be dead before we could even get upstairs.” Zack shook his head. He didn’t mind the recall honestly—it gave him more time with Aerith—but the President’s priorities were beyond him most of the time. He knew the Science Department was also lobbying to get one of the firsts on some special mission of theirs. The Northern Crater mission. What were the reports calling it? Some sort of Wonder Cave? Regardless, even the Science Department was being stalled. The President was shooting down anything that would take _either_ of them out of the city. Or even to the slums for too long. “There could be people _dying_ from these monsters, yet we are stuck here because of his paranoia?”

“I know you well enough, Fair, so I’m not going to write you up for that comment.” Zack winced at the reprimand. He had spoken out of turn. “I was going to send a squad consisting of troopers and a Second class to guard the town until we can take care of the source. It should do for now.”

“Sir.” Zack snapped to a salute, ending his arguments on the matter. Then he relaxed, hesitantly, “Although, if I may ask…I didn’t realize we had a free Second at the moment.”

Of course they couldn’t send a Third. They’d lost some to the mission already.

Sephiroth had turned back to his work, having thought the conversation over. He raised his head, “Second Class Kunsel is due back at 1500. I would prefer to give him more than just a night between missions, but I figure watching a small town should be leisurely enough.”

“Thank you sir!” Zack saluted again and excused himself, a bounce in his step despite everything. He hadn’t seen Kunsel for _weeks_. Maybe even over a month now. Perhaps longer since he’d actually talked to the guy. Everyone was so _busy._

They traded emails of course. But it wasn’t quite the same.

He’d have to call Aerith and tell her he’d be busy this evening. He needed to hang out with his buddy before he left again.

x-x-x

“Soo…how’d the mission go?” Zack wheedled, lounging back against the small couch in his friend’s apartment. He’d thought they could go out for dinner or something to celebrate Kunsel’s return, but one look at the slumped body posture had Zack immediately changing the idea to a quiet hang out and maybe getting something delivered. Kunsel hadn’t said no to the idea, and then proceeded to invite Zack back to his quarters. Thirds shared barracks. Seconds and up had their own designated apartments.

“Horribly.” Kunsel muttered, running a hand through his frizzy brown hair. It always seemed so…weird to see Kunsel without the SOLDIER helmet—if he was in uniform he never went without it. Zack remembered a joint mission to the Corel Desert—he hadn’t even taken it off then!

Here, in his own apartment, uniform stripped down to just pants and sweater, Kunsel finally felt comfortable enough to relax, leaving the head-gear sitting on the small side table next to him. “Negotiations were going along well enough—even if I knew the locals weren’t budging. We just needed to get to the _reactor._ It’s not like we were told to eliminate the birds. One of the troopers got an itchy trigger finger and we were forced to kill the one of the birds to protect him. Needless to say the locals weren’t happy. We had to fight our way out.”

“That sucks man.” Zack clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “What did they want in the reactor anyway? The area around Ft. Condor is pretty much barren. I thought ShinRa didn’t care when they pulled out last year.”

“I wasn’t told. One of the Turks was with us. Need to know basis.”

Zack arched an eyebrow at that, expectant. Since when did Kunsel let that stop him?

“Oh you.” Kunsel waved a hand in Zack’s direction, irritated. Zack just smiled back. “Fine. You know me too well. I heard there’s some sort of special materia in some of the reactors. Fort Condor’s is the only one we don’t have control of at the moment, so I think we were sent to bring back that materia for study. My guess is the management doesn’t expect the situation with the Fort to get better any time soon and wanted to get it out before they manage to gather many more mercenaries and bar access to the Fort completely. Given what happened…I doubt they will let us anywhere near now.”

Kunsel leaned forward, “What about yourself? I heard about that mess in Junon, but it’s been quiet since.”

“That’s ‘cause it _has_ been quiet.” Zack muttered, “First Class SOLDIERs—really, just Sephiroth and I—are confined to Midgar for the foreseeable future. Seph figures it’ll last until Genesis shows up again. If we can prove he’s up to something else, the President can stop worrying about an assassination attempt, and we can get back to our jobs.”

He caught Kunsel’s amused snort, and Zack ran over what he’d said in his mind. He couldn’t find anything that would cause that sort of reaction. At least he resorted to a confused, “What?”

“Since when do you call him ‘Seph?’” Kunsel pointed out the nickname, and Zack had to pause, mentally staring cross-eyed at the question. He hadn’t even noticed he _had._ Zack had a tendency to give his friends nicknames. Cloud was Spikey. Kunsel, the occasional fondly used Bucket-head. He hadn’t come up with one for Aerith yet (other than Gorgeous, which he mentally reminded himself not to call her, ever. She’d probably giggle and then hit him for it.)

But…He’d never even given one to Angeal, his mentor and immediate superior for so long. Why did he give one to _Sephiroth_ of all people? Even if it was one of his least imaginative ones.

Kunsel was still waiting patiently for his answer, so Zack ended up just shrugging, “I’unno honestly. We’ve been…working together a lot since the desertion, and I _think_ he’s decided to take me under his wing. Extra training and all that.”

Zack didn’t know how to feel about that last fact. _Angeal_ was his teacher. While Sephiroth was technically his superior officer, having taken over Lazard’s work, they were equals in rank if not in power. His offer to spar had been made with the intent of helping Sephiroth get his mind off things. He hadn’t expected the email afterward arranging another session the next day. Or the next. And they were less spars, and more _lessons._ Sephiroth had been progressively slipping more and more into a teaching role in those spars, critiquing Zack’s style and adding his own tips. Without using his summons, Zack’s style apparently favored Sephiroth’s more so than either Angeal’s or Genesis’s. A mixture of magic and sword-play.

It felt weird, to think of having another teacher. It felt…wrong. But Zack never turned down a chance to improve himself, and Sephiroth seemed to enjoy the sessions. He lost his troubled air when they stepped into the training room, focusing instead on picking apart Zack’s every flaw and then helping him put the style back together again. He’d even given Zack _homework_. Today he’d had to go over his materia set-up, rearranging the slots to see if he could one-shot a training dummy tomorrow with a Firaga spell.

“That’s…great.” Kunsel remarked with an incredulous air, “Sephiroth has _never_ taken a student before. Genesis taught a few of the theory classes, and Angeal liked one-to-one mentoring, but Sephiroth never showed an interest before. Odd that he chose you though, you are already pretty damn strong. You need to share some of your luck with us little guys, Zack.”

The teasing had Zack flushing with embarrassment and shoving Kunsel off the couch, he’d cracked up laughing at Zack’s reaction. “He just needs a distraction.” Zack protested loudly, “That’s all. I’m the only one stuck in the city for more than a day anyway.”

Kunsel’s laughter faded and he just sprawled on the wooden floor, expression sobering. Zack felt the heat leave his face at the sudden silence, scooting to the now vacant edge of the couch so he could see the still form of his friend, “I take it you heard about your mission already?”

“Yeah.” Kunsel exhaled loudly, “Got the email on the flight home. I suppose I should think of it as a vacation. Midgar is stuffy this time of year, and mountain air is supposedly very nice and crisp…No mention of how long it’s gonna take. Here I was hoping to stay home for a few days.”

“Until we deal with Genesis.” Zack winced guiltily when Kunsel’s faintly glowing brown eyes locked on him rather than just staring up at the ceiling. They always seemed strange to Zack. So faint, the glow was barely there. Maybe that was why he always had his helmet on? Maybe brown eyes didn’t show the glimmer well. Shades of green tended to be the most obvious. “I was talking with Seph—” and there was the nickname _again_ “—about it earlier. One of us really should be the ones taking care of this problem since we lost _three_ SOLDIERs, but we can’t leave. The next best bet is to send someone to keep an eye on the town—keep the monsters from wandering too near—”

“Yeah, I understand.” Kunsel waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t take it the wrong way, I’m not really complaining. Just disappointed is all. Who knows, I may meet a cute country girl and fall madly in love while I’m there. At least I won’t have to hunt down the cause—if they really want to send you or Sephiroth then it is above my pay-grade.”

“You’d be fine. You’re pretty strong yourself, Bucket-head.” Zack teased, “Besides, didn’t you get the highest scores on the evals since Genesis? I seem to remember a little show-boating…”

“In materia theory and practical only, you forgetful porcupine.” Kunsel shot back, “My physical skills are only passable. The only reason I got promoted is because we don’t have many SOLDIERs with my specialty.”

Kunsel was a materia specialist? Why hadn’t he known that? Then again Zack hadn’t even known there _were_ specialists. Sephiroth had said they were rare. “If we had more time, I could help you with that.” Zack offered. He’d sparred with Kunsel a little bit way back when Zack had first been promoted to Second class, but not much since. Kunsel had been a Second longer than Zack had. “Maybe once you get back?

“Nah. I leave the sword swinging to people like you. I much prefer a support role anyway.” It was a little difficult to shrug while lying on his back, but he managed it. Zack rolled his eyes and stood, offering the second class his hand. Kunsel’s grip was tight as Zack pulled him to his feet. “You could have gotten up on your own.”

“I could have.” Kunsel agreed, crossing the room and grabbing his helmet off the counter. He slid it on, expertly tightening the chin straps. He gathered the rest of his uniform, slipping on the shoulder armor and fiddling with the belts. “But I knew you would offer.”

“Lazy.” Zack accused, but he didn’t put any venom into the word, “Given the fact that you are suiting up for battle, I figure you decided you are well enough to go out and get some food?”

Zack never did understand it. He didn’t think he ever would. He wouldn’t have bothered with putting the armor back on if he’d taken it off for the night. Technically it was against regulation, but Zack had gone out for dinner or to see Aerith without it before.

“Yeah. I’m feeling better. Just needed to chill for a while. Where do you want to go?”

“Weeeell…it just so happens that I found this nice little place under the plate the other day. It just opened, and I was the one who named it!”

“Really?” Zack couldn’t see it, but he knew his friend was arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yep. It’s called Seventh Heaven. A little bar and restaurant. No idea how the food tastes though.”

“Well. Might as well try it. Lead on, oh namer of bars.”

“Shut up, bucket-head.”


	10. A Detour of Fate

Kunsel stood outside the gate to the small, sleepy mountain town, watching the retreating form of a slender girl as she hurried away into the town proper. He’d barely caught sight of her, hiding in the shadows of the tall wooden pole, watching as he and his small band of troopers approached. She’s probably run off to inform the mayor of their arrival—Kunsel _had_ sent word ahead when they stopped at the Golden Saucer, letting them know they were coming.

He sighed and turned to one of his troopers, noticing with amusement that the shy trooper suddenly had his helmet on again. It had been against regulation, but Kunsel had given him leave to keep it off during the trip. Motion sickness and enclosed spaces didn’t mix very well. “Well, Strife. Zack told me this is your home town, isn’t it?”

“H-he did? I mean. Yes. Yes it is.” The boy—only sixteen if Kunsel remembered the personnel file correctly—took a deep breath, obviously trying to shake off the nervousness of being addressed. His stammer caused the other two troopers to snicker, which in turn led to Cloud wilting further. Kunsel waved the others to silence, keeping his attention on Cloud. _This_ was the trooper Zack had liked so much? Zack had been the one to recommend the boy for the mission. Kunsel admitted that having someone who knew the town and area would be useful, but he hadn’t expected the boy to be so…so…

Oh well, nothing to be done for it now.

“If you could point the way to the Inn, we can get settled in. Once we do, I’ll set you all up in shifts for guarding.” He turned to eye the other two Troopers, seeing them snap to varying degrees of attention as he did so. He hadn’t gotten the _worst_ troopers. Not by far, they were all competent, from what he remembered of the personnel reports. Discipline problems, but those in charge of assignments figured that it wouldn’t matter for such a…leisurely mission.

Kunsel sighed; catching the look one of them was giving Cloud. That one had been picking on the boy the entire way here, ever since he’d heard that Cloud had been _personally recommended_ by a SOLDIER First Class. He’d have to keep an eye on him.

“Strife.” The call had the boy jumping, and scrambling on ahead, making for one of the larger houses on the western side of the town. They all looked the same to Kunsel, all built in a similar style, six houses ringing the town center, with more and more roofs peaking up from behind them. They pressed almost to the base of the depression, the mountain peaks rising around them.

A population of no more than a hundred… _why_ would these people still live out here? The reactor mainly supplied power to the Company’s space program, located on the other side of the range, but this town had been here for decades before that project was opened. Kunsel liked to do his research before a mission, but because he’d only had a few hours the night before, he felt like he was _missing_ something. Something important. This Mako reactor was one of the first built. Why here? Why so far out of the way? Had this town been founded by the workers who built the reactor? But given the suspicious looks from behind curtains and in doorways they were receiving, Kunsel knew they weren’t used to ShinRa personnel. Engineers who worked on the Mako reactors were far too valuable for ShinRa to just let go.

But not everyone shied away from them. Kunsel motioned for the group to stop near the wooden tower in the center of the open space. A tall, well-muscled man with brown hair, and a rather richly decorated coat came was jogging toward them from one of the eastern houses, the same girl who had been watching them approach at his side. Judging by the (relative) finery of his clothes, and the size of the house he’d just exited, he wasn’t just another townsman

“Mayor Lockhart, I presume?” Kunsel asked, glancing at Cloud for confirmation. The boy seemed to want to shrink away, but caught himself, snapping into a very impressive parade rest. For a cadet. The others weren’t quite so sharp, or quick, but they did so once they saw what Cloud was doing. Reluctantly. “Yessir.”

 _He’s either going to shame them into becoming more disciplined, or they are going to try and break him of it._ Kunsel chewed on that thought for a moment. The former was definitely the more favorable of outcomes. He’d have to come up with some duties to keep them all occupied during their stay, if he didn’t want the cruel nature of bored boys to come out. Maybe he could train them? That was a possibility. “Mayor Lockhart? I am Kunsel, SOLDIER Second Class. I trust you got our request for lodging?”

“Yes.” The man responded, coming to a stop before Kunsel, taking in his uniform and then those of the troopers around them, “This is a much smaller group than the last one. You _are_ here to investigate the monster attacks, aren’t you?”

“No.” Mayor Lockhart’s reddish-brown eyes narrowed at the response, then hrmphed, crossing his arms, “Then what _are_ you lot here for? We’ve sent numerous requests to get the nest taken care of—the dragons are growing bolder, and there are other strange monsters lurking up in those peaks. Ones we haven’t seen before. The merchants can’t cross the mountains now. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ShinRa was deliberately dragging its feet to force the merchants to rent their cargo planes.”

That…probably wasn’t too far off the mark, Kunsel realized. From the sounds of it, this had been a growing problem over the last few months, yet the mission had only crossed Sephiorth’s desk last week. And even then, only because of the missing SOLDIERs, and the possibility of Genesis’ involvement. Someone at ShinRa had likely looked at the economic advantages of having the pass impassable, and deemed it an acceptable loss.

“I’m afraid I cannot comment on that matter, sir.” Kunsel responded carefully, remembering his training. Not the SOLDIER one. “We ARE here in response to the monster attacks, but as protection detail, rather than investigation and extermination. The loss of the last Squad means that SOLDIER is unwilling to take any more risks here. Our mission is to keep the town safe until one of the First Classes can be spared to complete the task.”

“I see. So the situation will not change, and ShinRa will drain us dry with the costs of this… _protection._ ” Lockhart almost sounded…resigned beneath his anger. “So be it. We _did_ ask for ShinRa’s intervention after all. I should have known better. You will be given room and board at the Inn.” He waved a hand to the building where Cloud had been leading them, “If you need potions or other supplies you will have to buy them. We only have a small stock, and I can’t order people to ruin their livelihoods for you. I expect the area around the town to be completely free of monsters.”

Kunsel let the demand wash over him, not rising to the bait. That had been his plan. He would take the troopers out tomorrow to clear out anything too close. It would be good experience for them, and would give him an idea of what was out there. “Thank you sir.”

The man huffed again and stormed off, but surprisingly the girl didn’t follow. She lingered, letting Kunsel study her carefully. She was a teenager—quite pretty, if a bit young for him—with long brown hair and eyes just a hint redder than the mayor’s. Was that a common trait among the town? Or, more likely, were they related?

“Do you…know many of the First Classes?” An odd question. Kunsel considered for a moment. She made it sound as if there were plenty of them. ShinRa never released numbers for the public. Most didn’t realize that there had only been three First Classes for years. And now there were only two, given Zack’s promotion and Angeal and Genesis’ desertion. Lazard had always been overly strict with that last promotion. The required mako injections could do more harm than good if the recipient wasn’t stronger and more resilient than the common SOLDIER.

“A couple.” He waited for her to ask another question, but she seemed hesitant. “Why?”

“I had a friend…who left town. He said he was going to become a First Class.”

Kunsel caught Cloud flinching, and suddenly the boy’s reluctance for this mission was understandable. He _had_ slammed the helmet back on his head the moment they’d come within sight of the gates, and Kunsel was sure Cloud had seen the girl waiting. He stopped himself from sighing. It looked like he would also have to deal with a bit of teen aged drama. He couldn’t let this effect the boy’s performance like this.

“None of the Firsts are from Nibelhiem, I’m afraid.” Kunsel said carefully, watching Cloud wilt through the corner of his helmet’s viewing slot, “But…If he left recently, he’s likely still in training. With the war over, the company has restructured the cadet program, and battle promotions are gone. SOLDIERs like Zack Fair, making First at 18, are an anomaly. Most Seconds don’t get their position until their twenties at least.”

He was saying this as much for Cloud’s sake as he was for the girl’s. Zack _was_ an exception to the rule. He’d joined the cadet program at 14—the minimum age. War-time policies left a high demand for SOLDIERs, and was rushed through with the other talented cadets. He made Second at 16, battle-promotion, and then caught the eye of one of the Elites. Trained personally by Angeal, not to mention his performance in the whole Genesis debacle…Zack deserved that title of First. But he was _not_ the norm. If Cloud was looking to Zack as a judge of whether he should be a SOLDIER by now…

Most cadets failed the first test. They just weren’t _ready_ yet. They were rotated in with the regular Army to gain experience, and then in a year or two, if they survived, they could take it again.

Kunsel made a note to pull Cloud aside later. He really needed to talk to the trooper about this.

“So that’s why…He’s probably just busy training then.” The girl suddenly seemed to brighten, “That explains why he hasn’t written. Probably too embarrassed to tell me he hasn’t gotten into SOLDIER yet. Thank you, sir! It’s relief. I’ve been worried.”

He didn’t mention that ‘training’, aka the rotations in the army, did end up killing over 50% of the applicants, but instead smiled at her, “No problem. The name’s Kunsel.”

“Tifa.” She returned the smile, sunny and bursting with energy, as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. She glanced to the side, noticing the mayor glowering at her from the door to the house they’d come from. Apparently he’d finally noticed her absence, “I’m sorry about Father. He’s just worried. Nibelhiem relies on the merchants going through the pass.”

“I understand.” Kunsel shrugged in what he hoped was a ‘what can you do about it’ way. He was happy to have his theory of familial relationship confirmed. “We’ll do our best to clear out the lower slopes. Once the situation in Midgar is resolved, the rest will follow.”

She chatted a little bit more, but eventually succumbed to the dark looks given her by her father and went to him. The moment the door closed behind them, and Kunsel and his troopers were left alone in the center of a too quiet town, the jeers started.

“Cloud and Tifa sitting in a tree—“ Kunsel cut off the sing-songed whisper with a sharp motion, apparently the Troublemaker had picked up on the connection as well. The SOLDIER turned to face the boy, “Are you a soldier, or a child? Do not forget this IS a mission, Huwitt.” He motioned to indicate the other trooper, a slightly older boy who hadn’t joined in with the singing, but had begun to hum along, “Green, take him and go to the Inn. Get our room ready. After that, laps. Around the tower.”

“How many?” Green asked hesitantly.

“Until I tell you both to stop. Now go.”

They scurried off, leaving Kunsel alone with Cloud.

“Now. We will have to have a talk about your…attitude toward this mission, Cloud. But for now…I mean what I said. It isn’t shameful for a cadet to be in your position. You are actually better off than most. You caught Zack’s eye.” Kunsel softened his voice. He _was_ a Second class. He had experience leading squads, but that didn’t mean he liked the harshness authority needed sometimes. “They aren’t part of the program. They only see the failure. They don’t see the training. _Ignore them._ ”

“Sir. Ignoring them would be detrimental to squad cohesion.” The boy’s voice was wavering, but the rebuttal caused Kunsel to quirk an eyebrow, not that the trooper would be able to see thanks to the blissful anonymity of his helmet. Cloud’s stance was firming up, the boy beginning to unfurl once the pressure of watching eyes vanished. He thought he could see what Zack liked about this boy now. He just needed confidence.

“The insults then, not the people.” Kunsel chuckled, “Even in SOLDIER you will work with petty people, we just happen to be stronger than most. You cannot let them shake you up like that. Especially not on a mission. Do you understand?”

“Yessir.”

Kunsel spotted Green and Huwitt exiting the Inn, jogging reluctantly toward the water tower. Kunsel clapped Cloud on the shoulder, “Now, I want you on first watch, up near the edge of town. You know the local wild-life, I assume?” Cloud nodded, his helmet bobbing, “Make note of anything you see that doesn’t belong. Anything new. Out of place. The request said, along with new monsters, some of the stronger ones from the mountains have been migrating closer to town. I need to know what we are up against, so I can plan. After…oh say, sundown I will send one of the others to relieve you. Probably Green. He seems the more sensible of the two. Once you give me your report, you may visit your family, if you wish.”

“Yessir!” Given a task to do, Cloud seemed more focused. Focused was good, Kunsel decided, watching as he jogged toward the back edge of town, rifle bouncing with his swift gait. Focused would let a SOLDIER ignore nervousness, or awkwardness.

He turned to watch the troopers. They were jogging lazily, chatting as if it were just a stroll. He set his jaw, pulling out the displeased commander. Cloud would one day be a SOLDIER, Kunsel knew it. Just like he knew Zack would make First class from the moment he saw him. These two…they would either end up dead, or dishonorably discharged for insubordination if they continued on like this.

You needed to be able to trust your fellow soldiers. Enhanced or not. Even Army Troopers, like these two. Even the _Turks_ had to trust each other, even if they didn’t trust anyone else.

That thought twanged at him, a long acknowledged guilt bubbling up and seeping into the cracks behind Kunsel’s mask, even as he barked an order at the two troopers. They startled, exchanged glances and then picked up the pace, although it wasn’t until Kunsel sent a weak Fire spell nipping at the heels of Huwitt that they were running at a satisfactory speed. This was punishment, not an exercise.

He was used to it. Used to it gnawing at his gut. He knew how to shove it away. He knew how to bury it under masks and personas and helmets.

For all he’d told Cloud. For all he knew about it, Kunsel hadn’t gone through the cadet program.

x-x-x

Cloud felt…tired. It wasn’t even physical exhaustion. Not like Green, who’d seemed a little more zombie like than human as he’d shuffled up to Cloud’s post to relieve him. Had Kunsel really worked them _that_ hard?

He was just…mentally tired. Lingering effects of his motion sickness. Seeing Tifa like that. The conversation…being _home._

Green and Huwitt didn’t even make the list. He’d been picked on ever since he was little. For being blonde in an otherwise dark-haired town. For not having a father. For being small and slender. Girlish.

When he moved to Midgar, and then eventually Junon, where the Regular Army was stationed and trained, the teasing had remained, even if some of the reasons had changed. For failing the cadet exam. Twice. For being weaker than everyone. For being a country bumpkin. For gasping the first time he’d seen an airship…

He didn’t like it. It threw him off. Despite his familiarity with it, it would always stab at him, make him doubt himself. Make him wonder. But he could _deal_ with it. In the grand scheme of things, bullies were the last thing he was worried about.

_Tifa…_

She’d…grown since Cloud had left. In more ways than one, heat rising in his cheeks as he tried desperately not to think about it. To think she’d asked about _him._ He’d been mortified that _she_ would discover his failure. His shame. He hid behind the anonymity of his helmet. Hid from _her._

Even if she said that—nailing the reason he stopped writing with her little quip—he _couldn’t_ show her his failure. In her mind, he was off in some secret SOLDIER facility, training his heart out in preparation for the exam. Not… _here_. Not hiding behind an infantry-man’s helmet, right in front of her—too cowardly to say anything.

“You idiot…” He muttered, bowing his head, itching to take off the heavy blue metal. But no. Not yet. The lights were on in his mother’s house, glowing a welcoming yellow despite the late hour.

He’d just given his report to Kunsel—there _were_ monsters that didn’t belong. He’d seen a flock of _Sonic Speed_ s, when they normally never left the peaks, and Kyuvilduns skittering about among the shadows of the boulders just outside of town, even if the wooden gate kept them from making their way inside. It didn’t make sense to Cloud. What happened to the wolves? And those tracks…

Cloud hadn’t mentioned to Kunsel that he’d actually _left_ his post. That he’d picked his way up the slopes. To the bridge.

He found long thick scratches in the stone on the other side. Claw marks.

Dragons. They didn’t usually leave the cave complexes. Why? What would drive them out?

He shivered, partly from the thought, and partly from the nippy night air. The mountains were much colder than those in Junon, even with the breeze off the sea. He stopped at the door to his mother’s house. Frozen. Fist raised as if to knock.

Maybe…maybe he should just go back to Baldur’s Inn. Maybe it was better that _no one_ knew he came home. What if Tifa was watching from one of the windows? Her house was only a couple doors down.

But the light…it was so warm and inviting. This door, scratched and dented, paint peeling…it was _home._ It was home in a way this town never had been. No, Nibelhiem wasn’t really his home. It was just the place that his home was located.

His fist came down; automatically making the sharp, quick military knock he’d heard so often in the barracks in Junon. It wasn’t _Cloud_. No. Cloud wouldn’t have knocked. He would have just pushed on in, yelling out an “ _I’m home!”_ as he toed his shoes off.

He heard movement inside. Heard the door rattle as it was unlocked. Heard his mother muttering even as the wooden portal swung open.

“Honestly, look at the time! What kind of emergency is it this time? A stubbed toe? If it is Gweneth again, I swear I’m going to—“ And she froze, froze at the sight of the blue clothed, helmeted ShinRa trooper in the doorway. “Can I…help you?”

Cloud just stared at her. Just stared at the woman he hadn’t seen in at least two years. She looked…older. Her blonde hair was just as bright as his. Long, pulled to the side into a pony tail that draped over the front of her shoulder. Her bangs had that same inexplicable spike that had led to Cloud’s nicknames. Her eyes, so caring and loving, were guarded now, watching the stranger on her door step.

“Can I help you?” Her repeated question shocked Cloud out of his stupor. He fumbled for the straps on his helmet, pulling it off to the growing recognition in his mother’s face. She gasped and grabbed him, pulling him inside, into a tight hug. He felt her breath hitch, could hear the wavering in her voice as she held onto him, the door clicking shut in its frame—forgotten.

“Cloud! Oh Cloud. My baby…It’s been so long. Mummy missed you.”

He dropped the helmet to the floor, not caring as it rolled away on the wood. He clung to her as much as she did to him, squeezing out the tears that were gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I’m home…” The words were whispered, but his mother heard them.

“Yes.” She responded, letting up, and wiping away her own tears, a wide smile on her tired face, “Yes you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nibelhiem is a town with quite a few secrets. Kunsel is very good at sniffing out secrets. Next chapter we go…
> 
> Into the Mansion.


	11. The Mansion

“Honey, you really should invite your SOLDIER friends down for dinner some time. Hilda is a decent cook, but it’s been nearly two weeks! I’m sure they’d want something different now and then.”

His mother’s voice broke over him like a wave as Cloud sprawled on the large bed. His eyes were closed, just reveling in the feeling of being _home._ He’d forgotten how much he’d missed it, missed all the little things. His mother’s chattering, the smell of her cooking. The mountain air—so much easier to _breathe_! With a tinge of mako on the breeze. Sharp. _Home._

He knew it would be hard to leave, once this mission was done. But he had to. He still had his dream to chase. A promise to keep.

“I can ask.” He told her, propping himself up on his arm. The home was much the same as he remembered it, if seeming much smaller after having seen the far larger homes in Midgar and Junon. Most of those had been more than a single room. He liked the homey together-ness of this one. Bedroom, kitchen, and sitting room all at once. Of course, there had once been a much smaller bed in the corner for Cloud, but that had been years ago. “But I don’t think it would go over well. Kunsel has been grabbing food and disappearing. As for the others…” he shrugged helplessly

He wouldn’t even bother to ask Huwitt, and Green didn’t seem to care for Cloud that much. The two other troopers resented being sent to such a “back water town full of country bumpkins” and hated the fact that Cloud was actually _enjoying_ the trip. Kunsel’s punishment the first day had cut off the direct mocking, and in doing so had destroyed the only source of entertainment they could find on the trip. Cloud tried to avoid them as much as he could. He spent much of his free evenings with his mother, only returning to the Inn to sleep. Then he had morning training with Kunsel—alone. Green wasn’t willing to get up (he had the graveyard shift), and Huwitt had morning watch—before being transferred to guard duty from afternoon to evening.

That was another reason the others disliked him. They seemed to think Kunsel was favoring him, giving him the “easy” afternoon shift. It was more than Cloud actually _knew_ the mountains, and the monsters. And actually being able to _see_ the monsters let him report on their movements. The others weren’t good for much other than raising a general alarm, which is all night or dawn would allow them.

Kunsel spent most of his time either training the cadets, or out on the mountainside. Killing monsters was Cloud’s guess from the random flashes of light and smoke he’d occasionally see in the distance. Occasionally Kunsel would take all three of them out together to cull the closest nests. Which was really just Kunsel doing all the work and throwing fire around, with the Troopers watching in stunned silence and firing the occasional shot.

“It’s just a thought dear. You really should talk to your SOLDIER friend though. I’ve seen him going in and out of the Mansion. I suppose it is ShinRa property…but it isn’t right, I tell ya. Your Grandmum worked there as a housekeeper back when people lived there, years ago. She took me with her a couple times. Creepy place that was. Full of people in white coats who would stare at us until we left…It isn’t right. Full of monsters now, it is.”

“Of course Mum.” He sighed; running a hand through his blonde spikes as he reluctantly swung himself into a sitting position. Honestly he didn’t see what was so special about that creepy manor. It had been the subject of many a young person’s dare during his childhood, and Cloud had even managed to make himself sneak inside once, making it to the foyer—much further than Hoide who hadn’t even made it to the front door before a shadow across the moon cause him to turn back and run. “I’ll tell him. Maybe that’s what he’s doing? Trying to clear out the monsters?”

“Nah, ShinRa doesn’t care about those monsters. We’ve been asking them to take care of it for decades. They just tell us to keep the gate locked, and for some reason the darn things won’t leave the building, so I suppose we can count that as a blessing.” She stirred her stewpot, the smell wafting through the house and making Cloud’s mouth water. His stomach rumbled at the scent and she laughed, “Your appetite is hearty as ever, I see. Don’t worry, it’ll be done soon.”

Kunsel and the mansion forgotten, Cloud settled in to wait for his mother’s stew.

x-x-x

Kunsel gasped, drawing back from the cooling red corpse of the monster on the floor of the safe-room. He’d been doing fine. He’d expected something when he opened the safe—ShinRa, especially the Science Department—didn’t leave secrets lying about unguarded. He’d checked the mansion out of habit, despite the mayor’s assurances that there was nothing to be found there. Nothing? Kunsel had found the place infested with monsters of type he had only vague memories of reading in a bestiary of Hojo’s experiments! How he’d gotten access to those files wasn’t something he liked to think about. He had his resources.

Still. Kunsel might have just left the mansion with its trapped denizens—he could sense the sustained barrier spell around the place, probably drawing power from the mako reactor—after a quick run through if he hadn’t found the letters. Those letters…

_Even that one from the Turks…_

ShinRa didn’t want the mansion cleaned out. That much was certain from the Mayor’s insistence that there was nothing of note here. From the barrier he’d sensed, and the arrays of materia he’d found in a corner of the room all the way in the back, it was meant to keep the monsters _IN._ But _why?_ The safety of the townfolk? If that were the case, then why weren’t those machines all over the slums? Only reverse the polarity so it would keep the monsters _out._

The letters explained. Kunsel didn’t recognize the faded handwriting on the sheet with the clues—the other sheet was typed—but the language…speaking of _scientifically altering…_

He had wondered why a Mako Reactor had been built in the middle of nowhere, long before the ShinRa No. 46 was even planned. He had wondered why this town had been founded. Why ShinRa would let reactor engineers settle down in such a remote location. Why there was ShinRa owned property.

The town hadn’t been built. A _lab_ had. The town had sprung up around it. A cover story, maybe? It would be easier to hide such a facility if there was a quaint, but backwater town surrounding it. No one would ask questions, the first generation paid to keep quiet. To pretend they’d been living there all along. The children wouldn’t question it. The lie would become truth so far as the world knew.

The barrier wasn’t to protect the town. It was to protect this building from curious thrill seekers. Keep the place infested with monsters, and the town would just write the place off—especially with how rural this place seemed—as cursed. A normal person wouldn’t be able to handle all these monsters, especially those pumpkin things, whose breath managed to confuse _him_ until the mako took care of it.

Luckily, Kunsel was a SOLDIER in more than name. He did have mako-injections, even if his physical scores were well below average. His incompatibility with the stuff had been in part why his promotions had needed to be…helped along.

_Even that one from the Turks…_

He really wanted to just leave. There were some Company secrets even a Turk would be killed over.

But damn it, he couldn’t. Not after reading that letter.

He’d been careful—this mystery was on his own time. He’d found one clue per day, piecing together the numbers to a combination for a safe.

And in that safe…He looked down at the monster, the form twitching on the floor. It had once been half purple, half red. He’d killed the purple half. Noticing it shrieked in pain from his fire spells while the red one only laughed. Tickled. Then it had fallen over. Dead.

Or so he thought.

_You would have been dead without me, little liesmith._

The voice threaded through his mind, Kunsel shivered at its touch. He turned to the black cat seated on the wooden floor before him, its tail twitching, calmly grooming itself as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

“I know.” The words were quiet, but his hands were clenched in a white-knuckled grip on his sword. He was a SOLDIER Second Class. But when his magic had become useless…

So had he.

He was fast. He knew how to fight. But when his lighter-than-standard sword merely bounced off the then-completely red and tentacled monster’s thick skin…even as common sense claimed it should have been weak to physical attacks…

Kunsel exhaled the breath he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging. The cat sniffed at him, green eyes glittering in the shadowed face. _Not even a thank you?_

“You do realize you aren’t _supposed_ to talk, right?”

He dug through his materia stores—not that it was hard to find what he was looking for, with the thing radiating red light between the other unused materia. He fished the materia—his _only_ summon—out of the pouch. It spilled its light over the dim room, the red of the active magic glittering in the cat’s eyes.

“ _Meow.”_

“Very funny.” Kunsel sighed, eyeing the materia. Nothing he could do about it, short of running out of magic. He had tried that once. He’d cast every spell he had, draining his magic until he’d had nothing left. His summon—having taken the form of a dark-haired man then—had just laughed at him as he passed out. “You know, I could just turn this thing in.”

_Try it._

Kunsel turned away, rolling the sphere uncomfortably in his palm. There was a threat there. There always was. He popped one of his materia out of his bracer—Fire—and replaced it with the red orb, snapping it into place. He dropped the fire materia into his pouch with the others, before pulling out a small cap, glassy green over silver metal. It fit snugly over the summon materia, cutting off the light and disguising it as a common magic materia. It wouldn’t hold up under close inspection, but he didn’t need the attention a constantly activated summon materia would cause. He never willingly used it. ShinRa didn’t even know he had it. But it did have a tendency to save his life when he needed it to. And the spell wouldn’t end until the thing got bored and banished itself.

_Consider me a…scholar. This world is unreachable without a contract. I’m…curious._

The purr echoed in Kunsel’s mind. He tried to ignore it. He picked himself off the ground, patting his uniform in an attempt to dislodge the dust and broken splinters of wood that clung to him from his fall. The…cat was watching the corpse of the monster curiously as it began to dissolve, red mist rising and curling from its edges as it returned—reluctantly—to the lifestream. Monsters always seemed reluctant.

Kunsel grabbed his sword—luckily it was still in one piece—and clipped it into his harness, striding past the monster toward the wide-open safe. He picked through the contents, absently pocketing the red materia glinting in its bowels. He was definitely _not_ going to keep that one. He had trouble enough with his little monster. Of course, Kunsel had realized long ago that it wasn’t a normal summon. Not by a long shot. Normal summons didn’t speak. Not even Zack’s did, and the silver-haired humanoid was the closest thing to an Independent summon like his own that he had ever heard of.

He considered the silvery weapon shoved in the back, a hand-gun of sorts. He touched it hesitantly, feeling the familiar shape of it in his palm. It felt…both strange, and familiar. It had been so long since his fire-arm training. He’d almost forgotten how it felt to hold a gun.

It seemed to be an older model, but Kunsel recognized it as one of the standard issue side-arms for a Turk. Perhaps the note _was_ true. The chance of someone surviving this long—the mansion had been abandoned for at least twenty years—was unlikely. But Kunsel had pressed on because he wanted to _know._ He owed it to whomever the nameless Turk had been.

_Are you going to continue to stare at the weapon all day, or are you going to notice the key right in front of you?_

Finding the lock would be for another day. He slipped the weapon into his harness and snatched the key from under the nose of the curious cat, which was pawing at it lazily. He needed something to distract himself from that monster he’d fought. From the twisting feeling of dread he always got from this mansion. Besides—he still hadn’t found the entrance to the underground lab yet. He was still confident in his conclusion—he’d found marked beakers stashed haphazardly in the kitchen, not to mention some papers left scattered around—but finding the entrance would need more time than the short amount left until sunset. After sunset…well, he didn’t much fancy wandering around with even more of the monsters coming out to play.

“How long are you going to hang around?”

The cat yawned and stretched, _Until I get bored._

“I’m going up the mountain. Will you keep your end of the bargain?”

 _Of course._ A lazy flick of the tail, and the cat shifted, becoming much smaller, spreading ink-black wings and launching itself into the air, landing lightly on Kunsel’s shoulder. Those unnerving green eyes continued to watch him. _So long as you remember yours._

He strode out of the room, the weight of the bird on his shoulder hardly noticeable. It took flight the moment he left the building, Kunsel watched it circling lazily far above him, a black speck against a red sky. He didn’t know what to make of the creature. He knew what it had _claimed_ , that day six years ago, when a newly enhanced Third Class had found a materia he had never reported.

_A god._

He’d never thought about summon materia. Or where they came from before that. Old _legends_ claimed they had once been gods, and Kunsel had wanted dearly to spend some time at Cosmo Canyon to check out their records on those same legends and stories, but the mission timetables hadn’t allowed for that. This was the first time he’d been sent to the Western Continent in _years._ His _real_ work was in Midgar.

He’d tried to ask about it. About why it was capable of speech. _Everything._ But the summon would just laugh. Laugh, and occasionally lie.

 _Karmic payback._ That wasn’t the summon. It was his own thought that snarked at him, _For all the lies you tell to others._

Kunsel shook off the thought. It was his job. He pulled out his PHS and sent a quick message to Cloud. He felt a little bad about it. He’d been planning on taking Cloud up the slopes tomorrow…but it wouldn’t hurt to check tonight.


	12. A Mother's Gift

Cloud glanced at his PHS, silencing the little jingle that played to inform him that he’d just received an email. He had been helping his mother sort through some of his old things—she’d needed to clear out the storage room, and he’d offered to help.

“Is everything okay, dear?” His mother looked up, half buried in a pile of old, hand crafted jewelry. She used to sell those to the caravans—back before she’d essentially become the village healer when the old one died. Materia-slivers, gathered from the mountain’s many mako pools and fountains, set in twisted patterns and braids of cord. He remembered many lazy days, before the lower-caverns were picked clean, when he scampered around at her side, constantly bringing her small chips of blue or green or yellow.

“Sorry, Mum.” He lowered the PHS. It was from Kunsel. “We were supposed to go tomorrow…”

Cloud had finally told Kunsel about the tracks, earlier. After he’d gotten off of guard duty. He’d been finding them closer to town, the last set only a short distance up the ridge. Kunsel hadn’t been happy about him wandering the hills on his own. Cloud had retaliated saying he’d _grown up_ on these ledges (granted, back then the scariest monsters stayed much further up the peaks.)

“You are going up the mountain, aren’t you? At this time of night?” She said quietly. Cloud grimaced. Now she would worry.

“Sorry…he’s my superior officer. When he says go…”

“I know, I know.” She waved off the apology, her blue eyes fixed intently on the various necklaces and bracelets set on the floor before her. She always was weird about that mountain. Cloud’s father had been one of the guides for the merchant caravans, back when he was really little. He went out, and then never came back.

Not to mention the…incident. It had done wonders for his friendship with Tifa, but it had left his mother in an overprotective tizzy right up until Cloud left for Midgar. She hadn’t even wanted to let him go then.

“We aren’t going very high. Not even up to the bridge.” The newest tracks were much closer than that. Not that he would tell his mother they were going anywhere _near_ dragon signs. That wouldn’t help at all.

“If you must go, you must.” She sighed, her fingers clenching around one of the larger materia-pieces, it having fallen loose of its woven backing. Cloud slowly rose to his feet, crossing the room to where his helmet was set on a side-table. His rifle leaning against the wall. “I’ll be back to help clean up. I promise. I might even get Kunsel to give me the day off tomorrow.” They were supposed to have gone during Cloud’s guard duty. But if they were going now…

“Just wait a moment!” Cloud turned, helmet held uncertainly as she suddenly stood up, crossing the room to a small dresser located near the bed. She riffled through the contents, before pulling out something. Cloud sucked in a breath. He recognized it.

A large chunk of misshapen red materia glittered in a woven background. It was sloppy. Nothing like his mother’s neat, skilled work. This was work made by tiny, inexperienced hands. His mother didn’t use red materia in her work. Cloud always used to ask why. She’d smiled and responded, “ _How would you like it if someone began to carve up **your** home?”_

He’d found that bit of materia long ago. He knew she wouldn’t use it. So he’d “borrowed” some of her notes, working for weeks to make that necklace. He’d given it to her before he left.

“Here.” She smiled at him, adjusting the strap so it slipped over his head. She tucked it into his uniform. It was thin—it wasn’t a full materia. It wasn’t round. It _did_ glow softly however. The other materia pieces didn’t—and would be hidden by his scarf once he put it on. “Mum—”

“Shush.” She chided him, patting him on the shoulder, “You gave it to me to keep me company when you left. I’m giving it to you to keep you safe on those hills. I like to think it is good luck. If nothing else, the glow could guide you back if you needed it.”

His throat tightened, and he found he couldn’t say anything to dissuade her. He just nodded, blinking away the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. He slid the helmet on, tightening the chin-strap as he thought about the extra weight around his neck.

After a few more assurances and hugs, Cloud left his mother’s house. He met Kunsel at the edge of town—Green was yawning at his post near the gate. Cloud glanced at the sun. It was nearly gone.

“Did you bring a lamp?” The question was out of his mouth before he remembered he was addressing his _superior_. He gulped, and then flushed as Green snorted. He didn’t know how Kunsel reacted. It was hard to read the man with that helmet on. “I-I mean, the path isn’t the clearest in the daylight, and the light will help ward off most of the monsters…”

“Your experience is showing, Cloud.” Kunsel teased, but he tapped a small dark object by his foot. “My eyesight is better than yours. We should be fine for a time. After that I will turn on the lamp.”

Cloud shrugged, trying and probably failing to hide his unease at venturing up the mountain at night. It just wasn’t done. But he waited quietly as Kunsel finished his conversation with Green—which was really more him assigning Green to take over Cloud’s shift tomorrow for however long they were out tonight, and ended up with the older trooper shooting Cloud an angry glare—and then picked up the lantern. They still didn’t move, however, just waited in silence with Cloud shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Sir—what are we waiting for?”

Kunsel was facing the village gates, but the helmet obscured any indication of what the SOLDIER was looking at—Cloud couldn’t even find the eye-slits in the thing even if he knew they must be there. He did seem to be watching the path back to the village proper, “Our guide.”

A…guide? “I _know_ these mountains, sir. We don’t need one.” Cloud was surprised Kunsel had found one _willing_ to go up the mountain at all given the general feeling in the village, much less with night approaching.

Kunsel sighed, and then stepped closer to where Cloud was waiting, pitching his words lower, “If you wish to keep your affiliation with the village quiet, then I would suggest keeping your knowledge of the area a secret. Using the services of a guide helps with this matter. Besides,” His voice returned to normal volume, apparently also noticing the slim figure strolling up the path, “Having the benefit of another’s perspective and experience is never a bad thing. Good evening Tifa. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

Cloud nearly choked, tensing up as the girl approached. She was wearing a much more…revealing outfit than she had on the day they’d arrived. Gone was the simple, loose pants and stylish blouse. The tan miniskirt and vest had Cloud blushing, thankful for the concealing nature of his scarf and helmet. She had definitely…grown up since he’d seen her last. Not that he needed reminding of that.

“Just don’t tell Dad I came.” Tifa whispered conspiratorially when she reached them, “He would never let me go up so late.”

Which would be why she was doing it.

“Were you serious? When you said there were dragon tracks?” Her cheery voice wavered, her expression sobering immediately at the worrisome news. She only gave Cloud and Green a quick measuring glance before giving her full attention to the SOLDIER. Cloud was surprised to realize that the dismissal…hurt.

He was used to it, wasn’t he? Troopers were invisible. No one paid them any mind. They were just…there. A very tiny insignificant symbol of ShinRa’s authority. SOLDIERs commanded attention. They were special.

It still…hurt. This was _Tifa._ And she’d looked passed him as if he didn’t matter.

_Stupid. You won’t tell her. Take off the helmet and see if she ignores you then._

His hand twitched, but he just tightened it into a fist, hiding it behind his back. He didn’t _want_ her to see him. Not like this.

“Possibly.” Kunsel shrugged. ”I’m no expert on the local species…”

Tifa wouldn’t be Tifa if she’d let that phase her. She nodded and reached into a small leather pouch at her side. She withdrew a set of gloves and slipped them onto her hands. To anyone else, it would have been an innocent gesture. To Cloud it meant she was _armed._

Those gloves, along with her deceptively lean build, told Cloud she had continued with Master Zangan’s training even after he had left. She’d been _good_ then. He caught himself wondering how much her skills had grown over the years.

“Well, let’s get this over with. Where did you say they were?”

Kunsel lit the lamp and handed it to Cloud, then gestured for him to lead the way. He did so, hesitantly, hyper aware of Tifa _right_ there and Kunsel’s advice ringing in his head. He moved slowly, deliberately, using the lamp to consider the darkening path even though he knew exactly where to go. The sun disappeared completely behind the mountain peaks before they reached the spot Cloud remembered. He soon found them. It was hard to miss them. Tifa let out a startled gasp and immediately sunk to the still-dirt covered ground, studying the depressions. Kunsel was drawn by three long furrows dug into a nearby bolder.

“Claw marks.” The SOLDIER was speaking quietly—thinking aloud? “Sharpening behavior? Or territory claiming? Gaea, monster behavior was never my specialty…”

A flutter of black in the corner his eye had Cloud jerking around, bringing the light swinging with the motion. Tifa complained that she couldn’t see the tracks without it, and he steadied, holding it still over her bowed head.

But he kept his eyes on the dark shape that had landed on the boulder. It pecked at the stone a few times, feathered wings fluttering. Too small and…normal looking to be a monster.

But…unmutated birds were rare in the Nibel Range. Even the most normal of them ended up with vibrant colors or crazy feathers due to the pure saturation of the mako here. Cloud didn’t know why, but when the bird tilted its head to look at him, wide unblinking green eye glittering in the light of his lantern…he shivered.

 _It’s just a bird._ He told himself. He’d seen plenty of birds like that in Junon, or on missions. Just…not usually in Nibelhiem. He hadn’t had many friends, so he’d spent plenty of time on the mountain. _You haven’t lived here for years. Your idea of usual is out of date._

He finally looked away from the bird when Tifa stood up, finishing her inspection. Careful not to disturb the tracks. She followed it with her eyes; it came from further up the ridge.

“It leads up to the bridge.” Cloud answered the unasked question before he thought about it, then he froze mid-breath. What if she recognized his voice? It _had_ changed. He’d had to suffer non-stop ribbing when it had been cracking and shifting during training. Nothing to do about it now. She turned curious brown eyes on him. He knew he was blushing now, the warmth in his face told him that quite clearly, “I-I-followed them earlier. They seem too big to fit on that rickety bridge…”

He searched her face for any sign of recognition. Nothing. She just looked passed him, not even seeing the nervous trooper as she considered his words. “These _are_ dragon tracks. Normally they lair on the _other_ side of the bridge. They can’t fly…but there are ways around that chasm. It’s just the easiest way for humans to use. The other monsters we have seen are small enough to wander across, or can fly.”

“The first squad reported a green dragon in the valley heading up to town.” Kunsel’s voice joined in. He stepped in to the circle of light given off by Cloud’s lantern.

Tifa whirled around to face him, “WHAT!? Father never said anything—they must be wandering down the steeper peaks. Oh, this is bad…we’ll have to warn the hunters. They’ve only been heading into the valley since it’s gotten worse up here, but if even that’s not safe…”

Cloud felt a chill settle over him at the controlled panic rising within him at Tifa’s words. His previous thoughts, when he’d noticed the scratches on the other side of the bridge…when they first arrived.

_What was driving them out?_

“I…take it the migration of the dragons is unusual?” Kunsel prompted, “Has this happened before?”

“It means…something else is pushing them out of their territory.” Cloud surprised himself as _he_ was the one to break the silence, drawing the attention of the SOLDIER and the guide. “Something worse.”

Tifa bit her lip nervously; her gloved hands clenched into fists “Something moved into the caves recently. A few months ago. When we first sent in the request. Originally we sent hunters up to check it out. It’s…some sort of giant bug. Since it moved in, the dragons have been forced to hunt outside the caves, which in turn forces the other monsters down the mountains…”

“And into the path the merchants use to cross?”

Tifa nodded. “We hadn’t seen evidence they’d moved further. If it’s happening now…”

“You worry something even worse has moved in, don’t you?” Kunsel asked quietly. “You don’t think the dragons are just following the food.”

“…the chasm is very, very wide. Green dragons can’t fly. They can climb the cliffs with difficulty. It normally isn’t worth it to them to wander this far.”

The handle of his lantern was digging into his palm. Even though the thick glove. Silence fell. Even the mountain was quiet—the normal night insects making weak, hesitant sounds to fill in the void.

_Caw!_

Both Cloud and Tifa jumped as the sharp sound broke through the night, whirling around to face the slashed stone, where the now echoing cry had originated from. Cloud’s hand immediately went to his rifle, Tifa falling into a loose stance, fists raised.

Nothing. Nothing save for the flutter of wings as that black bird took off, disappearing into the night. The moon was rising.

Tifa turned away. Tense. She looked back toward the glowing lights of the town below them. “We should go back. I need to tell my father.”

Cloud nodded.

Kunsel shook his head. “You two go. I’ll head back later. I need to think.”

They didn’t argue. Just moved down the path toward the town. Cloud glanced back as he heard that same flutter of wings again. Kunsel was a dark shape against the ridge above, a much smaller shape flitting out of the sky, landing innocently on the SOLDIER’s shoulder.

x-x-x

“Anything?” Kunsel asked quietly, glancing at the bird that perched innocently on his shoulder.

 _Quite a lot, actually. Aside from a veritable **swarm**_ _of bugs, I found the dragon’s den. It is just beyond the next outcropping. There was also something else. It moved as soon as I got close. It was watching you and the children._

Kunsel would have normally felt a sense of satisfaction at how annoyed the summon was sounding, but the news only left him feeling tired. And worried. Something else? Something smart enough to realize it had been spotted?

A sharp clang rang through his helmet, yanking Kunsel out of his thoughts. He winced, trying to glare at the bird who seemed far too smug. He really shouldn’t be able to read such emotions in a damn _bird._ It had to have something to do with that same link that let it talk, “Don’t _do_ that Lo—”

_Say my name, and I will do it again. And again until I shatter the metal and gouge out your eyes._

Kunsel cut off the word at the sharp thought, those green eyes knifing through him. He shook his head, reaching up to grab his sword. Then he stopped. Hesitated. Remembering the firearm he’d tucked into his harness. He slipped it out, loading the clip with an ease born of familiarity. He preferred range, which is why he had pursued magic. The sword was a SOLDIER’s weapon…but…

Kunsel still wasn’t a SOLDIER at heart. Even after the mako injections and years behind the helmet.

“Let’s just go slay a dragon. Are you going to help?”

The bird launched into the air, shadows shifting, growing as it did so. Four paws landed on the ground, a heavy bulk thumping against the stone. Kunsel looked into the face of a large, shaggy wolf.

_As much fun as it would be to see you eaten, it would break our agreement. Can’t let that happen now, can we?_

The snarl was probably supposed to be a grin, but it just made Kunsel shiver, following the wolf as it loped into the night.


	13. Great Cavern of Wonders

_After the mysterious energy’s influence, we are sure its source is just beyond here. All other operatives have been recalled. Good luck._

Zack thumbed through the emails again as he made his way through the caves, following the path that had been cleared and marked by all those who had come before him. He—and Sephiroth—had been following this set of emails closely since they had begun popping up after Junon. A set of caverns discovered on the northern continent. Powerful beasts and wonderful materia resided within. ShinRa _had_ to have it. Then again, so had apparently the remnants of Wutai’s rebel forces.

For once Zack was grateful to the ever-grubby and forceful Science Department. They had bullied ShinRa into letting one of the First classes go on the last few missions. Given it _had_ been nearly a month since Genesis’s attack, and nothing more had come of it, he’d conceded to letting _one_ go. Zack of course. Sephiroth was too _valuable_ to have away from the city for too long, much to the other man’s displeasure.

As _happy_ as Zack was to finally be done with the recall, he still felt an ache when he thought of Midgar. He’d really started to get used to seeing Aerith every day. To training with Sephiroth. While these last few days of monster fighting had satisfied the itch inactivity had created…he found himself thinking of her again. At least she would be in good hands. Paws. He could rest easy knowing that he had done _something_ to look out for her while he was away, especially with ShinRa’s unstable guard robots prowling the Slums.

_x-x-x_

“I’m sorry.” Zack lowered his PHS, finding it difficult to meet the worried green eyes of the girl across from him. She was sitting in the flowers, tending them. Or trying to. It was difficult to do that with a giant white wolf sprawled across her lap.

Ammy had begun all but summoning herself whenever Zack went to visit Aerith these days. It meant Zack didn’t have as much time… _alone…_ with his girlfriend—was she _really_ his girlfriend? The thought made him blush. Sure they’d gone on a few dates, and hung out a lot, but nothing…official had been said—but he couldn’t really begrudge it. Ammy was usually content to lie in the flowers and watch while they talked, and Aerith really seemed to be bonding with the wolf. The garden was _thriving_.

“For what?” She asked, tilting her head. Her green eyes were deep, Zack could get lost in them. “What is it that has you so morose today? You’ve been looking at your phone all evening.”

Zack sighed, running a gloved hand through his unruly spikes of hair. “I got a mission this morning.”

“That’s great!” She beamed at him, “You’d been waiting for one for a while, right?”

“Yeah…but not this one.” As interesting as it sounded…the Northern Continent. Monsters. A strong summon materia reaction… He couldn’t see anything about Genesis, and it would pull him away from Midgar for a few days. The mission briefing said there were a couple more levels to explore, and it was becoming too dangerous for the Second Classes who had been spearheading the expedition. “I’ll be gone for a while.”

“Cheer up.” Aerith startled him by tapping him on the arm, shaking her finger at his bewildered expression, “You’ve been moping around since your friend was sent out. Ammy and I have done our best to distract you, but this is a great chance, whatever it is. Take some time to get your head on straight, wave that behemoth of a sword of yours at a few monsters, do whatever SOLDIERs do to reaffirm their good moods. And only _then_ you can come back.”

Ammy barked an agreement, tail thumping against the ground, somehow not crushing one of the flowers that seemed to cluster around her wherever she lay. A slight breeze seemed to pick up out of nowhere, tickling Zack’s face and teasing his hair. He rolled his eyes at her, feeling the minor magic drain from the ability. That was usually the only way he could tell when she did something. Despite having some pretty hefty capabilities (creating _wind,_ turning night into _day—even if only temporarily—_ and growing plants out of concrete) they were extremely discrete when she used them. Even now, when he _knew_ she was doing something, he couldn’t see anything to indicate it. “Quiet you. I’m surprised you aren’t more upset about this. If I go, that means you won’t be able to lounge in the garden for a while.”

That statement gave her pause, and she rolled off of Aerith’s lap, flopping limply among the tall flowers. They seemed to _grow_ around her, Aerith watching with naked delight as they grew larger and larger, bit by bit, until the wolf was hidden in what seemed to be a small bush of multicolored flowers. Zack sighed as the magic drain ebbed off, “Make sure you put them back. You know they’ll wilt once you leave.”

She whined at him. Aerith giggled.

He’d thought about trying to use Ammy’s mysterious growth ability to try and get more flowers for Aerith to sell—as it was Aerith wasn’t willing to cull her garden completely to fill the flower cart they’d made for her. But that idea had been quickly squashed when he remembered the vines holding Hollander. They’d wilted and released once Ammy had gone home.

Speaking of the flower wagon…he glanced toward the front of the church, seeing the white, blue ribbon-ed monstrosity parked near the door. He still wished he could have found more pink ribbon. Aerith loved this one—thankfully, Zack wasn’t sure he would have been willing to build another if she hadn’t. Three was more than enough. They almost had an entire _fleet_ of the things. Maybe if this kicked off they could think about expanding…?

Thinking about the Flower Wagon had Zack thinking about what had been happening the last couple days, when they’d gone out…

“Are you…going to be okay without me here?” He asked quietly, ShinRa’s guard robots had been patrolling the slums, and every time they’d passed one, they’d gotten attacked. Tseng claimed it was Zack’s doing—that the machines couldn’t distinguish SOLDIERs from monsters. Tseng would have no idea how that statement had twisted at Zack’s gut. But he’d looked into it—there _were_ instances of them attacking normal people. They were just hushed up.

“I do know how to use a staff, silly.” Aerith chided him, nodding at the silvery weapon leaning against the wall. She didn’t bring it around when she was with him, but she did take it with her when walking from her home to the church. It was a decent one, actually, with slots for materia even if she claimed not to have any beyond the one she had tied in her hair. “I managed to survive before this big, strong SOLDIER came into my life. I’m sure I’ll be able to last until you come home.”

The word felt…nice. Right. He’d never really considered Midgar home. Gongaga. His parents. They had still been home. Only…they weren’t any more, were they? Not truly.

Aerith. This church. This garden. This peace. Yes. This was home.

And he would do what he could to protect it.

“Tell ya what…” He began, standing up and maneuvering his way toward the front row of pews. His sword was leaning against it. He still didn’t like just laying it on the ground. It was disrespectful. He heard a rustle of leaves, a glance over his shoulder saw a curious wolf’s head popping out of the mass of flowers.

He smiled, and then set to work, hitting the release catch on the first materia slot in his sword. It popped free into his waiting hand, the magic thrumming as it was free of the metal conductor. He closed his fist around it, cutting off the light, and then turned to face Aerith and Amaterasu, both of whom were watching him curiously. “Ammy…think you can keep an eye on Aerith for me?”

She shot up, sitting up out of her little flower bed, and Aerith gasped when he uncurled his fingers around the red materia, the orb glittering in his palm, the spell still going. He didn’t know if this would work. Most civilians didn’t have the magic capacity to use summons efficiently. But Ammy liked her. And Aerith could _see_ her. Aerith saw more than just the white wolf, Zack was sure of it.

He knelt down between the two, pressing the materia into Aerith’s much smaller hand. Ammy yelped as Zack’s magic cut off, the wolf flicking in and out of view for a few moments before the glow stabilized and Zack withdrew, the glow strengthening in Aerith’s hand.

Aerith looked down at the materia in wonder, and then to Ammy, who began to nose it gently. Zack relaxed, his worries were unfounded. He knew Aerith was special. Cissnei had let it slip all those weeks ago, that day on the beach. Whatever an…Ancient was, she would be able to handle the summon.

He reached out for Aerith’s hand, pulling her to her feet, “C’mon. Let’s go buy you a bracer for it. I know you have slots on your weapon, but believe me, it’s a good idea to have your important materia actually on you. Just _imagine_ if you got disarmed! Did I tell you the story about…”

And maybe once they got there, he could pick up that thing he’d spotted a few days ago. He thought Aerith would look cute in pink.

x-x-x

Zack smiled. Aerith’s face at both the summon, AND the pink ribbon had made it all worth it. He missed having Ammy with him, and the Company would kill him if they found out he’d lent materia to non-company personnel, but it made him feel better, knowing Aerith would be safe. Tseng said he would look out for her…but…

Zack had trouble forgetting Banora. An entire town wiped from the face of Gaea, on the whims of the company. Tseng hadn’t hesitated. He liked Tseng. He did. But he didn’t care much for the man’s priorities.

He shook his head, trying to focus on the glowing caverns around him. The crystal formations set into the wall were _huge._ Not proper materia—they were too big. That didn’t stop him from wondering what would happen if he channeled his magic through it. Probably just one amazing light show. Or an explosion. Big explosion maybe.

He came to a narrow branching in the path. He squeezed through the left doorway, knowing the right eventually looped back around to the previous area. Of course in doing so he brushed against the white marking chalked onto the wall. It smeared against is arm, and Zack sighed. He stopped, and fishing the chalk out of his pouch to replace it. The last thing he needed was to get lost in here. Luckily, the numbers scratched against the wall told him he was almost to the last marker. He’d been the one to put it there, but everything looked so blasted similar down here.

He checked his equipment. The original reports said that the signal they were getting felt like a summon materia. Zack was sure _that_ was the real reason the scientists had gone out of their way to put _him_ on the mission. He had been the one to find and defeat all the other ones they’d located. Perhaps they’d figured he’d have the best chance of defeating this one as well.

He could hear voices now.

“The readings are unbelievable!” The nasel voice bounced down the hallway, “We suspected the strength, given we’d been able to locate it through nearly fifty meters of stone. Our best efforts to map the area indicate we are currently located beneath the Northern Crater, and there is enough interference from the unrefined mako to make communications out spotty at best. Make sure you record _everything.”_

It was a tight fit, and he was starting to feel rather claustrophobic before he managed to slide out into the open cavern. At the sound of his relieved sigh, the room fell silent; various scientists shivering in their white coats were spread throughout the caverns. Some fiddled with machines. Others were furiously scribbling, pen scratching against paper. A small squad of SOLDIER Seconds mingled among them, more than one saluting to Zack as he walked up to the group. _This_ was what the company felt more important than people’s _lives?_ Zack had just received an email from Kunsel yesterday, stating that he’d had to kill a Green Dragon that wandered too close to the town. Zack shook his head, walking up to the hunched scientist mumbling in the middle of them all.

“Sir.” Zack saluted the man in respect for his position, even if not for the man himself. Professor Hojo looked up from his notes, peering at the taller SOLDIER over the rim of his glasses. He sniffed in annoyance, “If you had spent the night here with the rest of us, we could have been done by now.”

Zack ground his teeth. He’d had to deal with this since he’d arrived here. Calm. Keep calm. “I can’t get service underground. I need to return to the expedition camp each night to report.”

And like hell he was going to sleep on the cold rock floor, in this nearly freezing cavern when there was a perfectly decent almost-hard-as-rock-but-slightly-better cot up at the camp. With _heat._ Especially not with the oh so nice way Hojo asked him.

He didn’t really like the man. He’d done missions for him in the past—specifically fighting monsters that came pretty darned close to killing him. The professor had almost seemed disappointed that they had failed. Each time. It didn’t help that he remembered Hojo’s public and apparent disregard of Genesis and Angeal’s fate, writing them both off as the failed and needed to be scrapped projects of a substandard mind, rather than trying to help them. His attitude, unfortunately, seemed to infect all those who worked with him.

“Hmph. I’m sure the few minutes of frivolous protocol were worth the time we lost. So _inefficient._ Now get in there, we’ve had the equipment ready for _hours.”_ He reached into the pockets of his coat, pulling out a tiny machine about the size of a coin. The back snapped off, and Zack forced himself not to step away as the man moved in close to pin it and a couple other machines to specific areas of his uniform. Monitoring equipment. He’d had to wear them when clearing out the previous areas as well.

Zack ducked away from the scientist the moment he could, walking quickly toward the pair of Seconds guarding the dark exit on the other side. They saluted, and Zack waved off the formalities. He technically outranked them, but he recognized them. “Grant, Brand,” he nodded at them in greeting, “You ready to babysit these idiots? I’m sure they will try and get as close as they physically can.”

Brand chuckled, “I’m sure between the five of us we’ll be fine. We plan on keeping a barrier and wall up over the entrance after you go through, sir. We don’t know how large the chamber is, but it opens up after this point. The egg-heads seem certain that, whatever it is, it is right through there.”

Zack nodded, and grinned at Grant’s quiet “Good Luck,” waving cheerfully at the two as he moved past. The hum of magic sounded from behind him, the rainbow translucence of a wall spell settling over the doorway. Stray spells might have been…problematic.

Not that they would doubt him. He _had_ been the one to recover ShinRa’s inventory of summon materia after Genesis had made off with it. It amused him—for all his reluctance to officially take the title of Materia Specialist, most of the SOLDIER’s he’d talked to already considered him one. Summon materia was so rare, and Zack carried _six_ of them. Five really, now that he’d left Amaterasu with Aerith. But no one would know that.

The cavern was dimly lit by the crystal formations set in the wall, much like all of the previous chambers. There was one major difference in this specific cavern, near the far end the stone fell away into sheer edges. Zack approached. Cautiously. The stone just…stopped, leaving a good meter wide chasm at the far edge of the chamber. It _glowed._ Bright. Green. Pure. Zack was _mesmerized_ at the swirling river in the chasm’s depths. Wisps of it stirred at his approach, leading to him inching forward curiously.

And then, he was sent skidding backwards as it surged upwards, an explosion of green, almost translucent, but still seeming to be _liquid_ energy. He could hear yelling from the other end of the cavern, but it soon was reduced to a faint buzzing, the whole world painted in that same green ethereal glow.

x-x-x

“This is a very important mission.” Koenma was speaking, hands clasped in his sleeves behind his back. He stood on his large desk, the gesture trying in vain to give the little godling the height he needed to be to look his team of detectives in the eye. Hiei didn’t even bother to pretend to be interested. Kurama was doing enough of that for both of them. He’d heard enough. Illegal (by human law, reikai law, and even Makai law) _demon_ smuggling operation. He’d never heard of those. Human smuggling maybe. This one was run out of a pet-shop of all things. It was devious scenario, no doubt about that. The shopkeeper would sell unsuspecting humans a demonic animal, and more often than not the owner would show up dead. Or just not show up at all.

But Hiei was…distracted. His eyes were not on the pacifier-brat at the front of the room. His eyes were on the tense red-head at his side. The fox was slipping. Hiei had watched, had studied the way his aura reacted over the last few months. He was fighting.

Hiei nudged him discretely in the side. Kurama nodded. Just a tiny shift in angle. Neither of the others would notice. Yuusuke was laughing at the image of the shopkeeper Koenma had summoned to the screen, a rather feminine looking man. Kuwabara was uncertain as to the gender until Koenma clarified, after which he turned the color of an overripe tomato.

Even Hiei could feel the pressure building. Distantly. It settled around the fox like weights around his neck, pulling him down. Could see it in the way the fox’s youki sank in on itself, trying to hide inside his human shell. He wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer, and it would not be a good idea for one of Koenma’s elite team to be spirited away from his _own office._

Hiei huffed. It wasn’t like he _owed_ the fox anything. He had wanted to end this…whatever it was way back when it started. It was a liability. He had no obligation to keep his friend’s secret.

His…friend.

And there was the pickle. Somehow Kurama _had_ ended up a friend. And it was because of _that_ Hiei _had_ kept an eye on the situation when he otherwise would have washed his hands of the matter. He’d studied these…fits. He could see how they worked through his third eye. He’d gotten an idea…

And this was as good a time to try as any.

Hiei loosened the wards on his Jagan, molding the spirit energy, combining the cursed eye’s power with his own youki to craft a concealing ward which would damping his youki completely. It was a simple one. Hiei used a similar technique on himself whenever he had to do reconnaissance in the Makai, where one of his current…power wouldn’t ordinarily be able to pass the barrier. He’d studied this. The magic that took Kurama always looked for his _youki._ If there was no youki, there would be no hold.

He watched with his mind’s eye as the thin purple net settled around the fox. Kurama’s breathing evened out, and Hiei opened his eyes to find the tension easing out of the fox’s body. Curious green eyes turned to him.

“Hn.” Hiei grunted, crossing his arms and looked as unconcerned as possible. He could feel the pressure ease. The magic slipping away, retreating like a dog with its tail between its legs. Hiei allowed himself to feel a moment of satisfaction. He’d _beaten_ it—

And then he _shuddered._ It almost felt as if something were _crushing_ him. Hiei’s knees hit the floor with a sudden burst of pain. His Jagan was forced open, it screamed in pain, knifing through his mind, sucking up his youki to fuel himself. Hiei knew it would be glowing a fierce purple. Koenma stopped talking. The Moron and the Detective were staring at him. Hiei snarled a curse at them, but it came out more of a growl than anything, he forced his eyes shut, focusing on the Jagan. On the shield. He needed one for himself if the magic was following the thread of energy to him.

_You_ **dare** _break your contract, Youko Kurama?_

The female voice thundered through his mind, and he knew the Fox heard it too. Kurama hissed and sucked in a breath. The shield was wavering—the youki flaring out through the widening cracks. Koenma was yelling something along the lines of “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?”

Kurama sighed, a heavy, pain filled sigh. His voice was shaking, but he managed the words, which was more than Hiei could right now.

“Let it go, Hiei.”

The barrier shattered.

The pressure vanished along with the fox, leaving a drained, shivering fire demon behind to fend off the godling’s demands for an explanation. That power…

Hiei thought about holding on to consciousness. He _could…_ but then he would have to explain. Forget that.

Hiei did something he never did. He let himself faint. Maintaining his image wasn’t worth it.


	14. Gift of the Goddess

Youko stumbled upon arrival. It wasn’t anywhere near as smooth or precise as it normally was. No build up. No mist. Just one minute he felt like something was attempting to tear his soul apart—something he’d began to consider a possibility after how outraged those words had been. **Contract?—** and then the next he was staggering as already weakened legs hit stone. There was no compulsion. No discernable target amidst this world of blinding green, so he allowed himself to drop to his knees. His breathing was harsh. Pained. Each one feeling like a slap on an already opened wound.

Something was wrong. Something was different.

That _voice._ He…remembered it. Somehow.

“Shit. Are you okay?” Another voice. He knew this one. Zack. Zack was here? Of course he was. He’d been summoned after all. “But—how—I didn’t _do_ anything. Sure Ammy likes to initiate a summon, but I always have to finish it—”

 _“You did not summon him.”_ That voice, powerful. Familiar. No, it wasn’t one voice. Many voices. The voice of a _god._ “ _I did.”_

Youko forced his head up, peering through the curtain of his hair into the sea of green energy surrounding them. That same overpowering scent and taste of _Life_ assaulted him, it was the green energy. _That_ was the energy that always came searching for him. That was the magic that swept over him like a wave, carrying his spirit from one world to the next. And that voice…

Flashes of jumbled memory. Death. A white fox mask. A price.

“Lady Inari…” He breathed out; his head pounding as the green mist began to coalesce, forming a humanoid silhouette in the thickest of the green mist. But no, she did not have the white fox mask of his patron deity. Of the one in that memory. But her voice…that presence…it nagged at him.

“Wait a sec—did you just _speak!?”_ Youko grit his teeth and shot a glare at Zack, who was currently kneeling beside him. Didn’t he realize he was in the presence of a _god?_

And then he froze, eyes widening, one hand going to his throat. He _had._ But then he shook his head, hissing back, “Now _isn’t_ the time!”

“ _Damn._ Of course it’s in a completely other language.”

Youko ignored that, focusing on the armored woman who touched down on the stone floor before them. Long blond hair streamed behind her, teased by the swirling mist. Golden armor, wings of rippling white cloth. Shield in one hand, ornate staff clasped in the other…the sight of her took his breath away. She wore no helm, eyes as deep as eternity, and as green as this world bore into him. “ _You came very close to breaking your contract, Youko Kurama.”_

“ _What_ contract?” The pain was receding now. It was _strange._ He couldn’t _feel_ Zack. Not like he normally could. He just felt… _her._

Then again...he wasn’t the one to summon him this time, was he? “If you mean my promise—I made that to Zack. And Zack alone.”

He’d promised to aid _Zack._ Not this woman—goddess. He had no idea what _contract_ she was talking about.

“ _I have been…lenient with you. You are no god; you cannot be expected to remember that which you agreed to in death. But with that promise, you once more accepted the terms of your contract. I will_ not _tolerate interference again.”_

Youko grit his teeth, her voice resounding in his head like a final cymbal crash, marking the end of a particularly poignant phrase. It was so…damning. No hope of arguing.

“Look, freaky floating lady, I have _no_ idea what’s going on here.” Zack stood up, stepping between Youko and the resplendent goddess before them. He had that huge sword in a two-handed grip, holding a defensive posture in front of the fox’s kneeling, and for the moment defenseless body, “I can’t understand a word you two are saying, but if you are threatening _my_ Guardian, I’m going to have to do something about that.”

“Don’t be foolish, Zack!” Youko barked, it felt so surreal actually being able to _speak_ like this. Not that it meant much when there was an obvious language barrier. _Why_ was it only one way? The young man obviously recognized his name, and shot him a confident grin over his shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve taken down scarier looking things than this lady.”

 _She’s a_ god _you idiot._ Youko thought viciously, but he didn’t get the chance to say the words. He _felt_ her attention shift from him to the swordsman. He heard her words shift, even as he could still understand them. She’d changed languages. “ _Favored of the Cetra, do you wish to defend him? Will you take his crime unto yourself, and prove yourself above my judgment?”_

“ _What_ crime?” Youko spat back, “You yourself said I came _close,_ but I did not _break_ it.” He was guessing. He had no idea of the specific terms. Death. She said he’d agreed to it upon _death._ He’d only died once, and he had next to no memory of the event. Oh, he knew the plan. It had always been a contingency plan. Evade the Ferry Girls, find an unborn human child, and _hide._ He’d always assumed it had worked, since he’d woken up a human toddler, once his tattered soul had time to heal. “I _came.”_

 _“You came at_ my _summons. You ignored_ his. _The one who holds you_ r _Oathstone_.” She nodded toward the swordsman standing in front of him, stamping the butt of her staff into the ground. “ _Ignoring the call once you re-accepted the terms binding you_ is _a significant breech.”_

“I didn’t summon anyone!” Zack shifted his stance, “There’s no way he can ignore it if I didn’t _ask.”_

The goddess… _laughed. “You did. You were reaching for him with your magic the moment I brought you to this plane. He is your_ guardian, _is he not? The partner you call on when you need it most. Should your life be in danger, where would you instinctively turn? Not to Ifirt. Nor to Odin. Not even Amaterasu. She and the Cetra belong together, and you instinctively recognized that.”_

Zack flinched, and then glanced guiltily over his shoulder. His body language hunched, but then he straightened, gloved hands tightening on the hilt of his sword, “If you are right…then it’s really _my_ fault. I will _not_ let you hurt him for something I did!”

 _“Don’t!”_ Youko wanted to shout. Wanted to reach out and grab the young man by the shirt and drag him away from the entire situation. But he couldn’t _move._ The ease of speech was gone, the restriction had been lifted, he realized, to allow him to give his defense in this…trial of sorts. Now the usual conditions returned, that unseen hand strangling the sound in his throat. That same force ran through every inch of this magic-constructed body. He could feel the will holding him still. Holding him silent. An observer, not a participant.

Zack was not his summoner this time. _She_ was, and she didn’t want him to interfere. He could do nothing as a golden helm formed, hiding her face from sight.

_“Very well. I accept your right to challenge.”_

_x-x-x_

Zack didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. The floating crazy lady was fast, even his _limits_ only bounced off her shiny gold armor. He’d grown desperate and tried Chain Slash, which normally took a good chunk out of whatever he’d been fighting. Nothing. He’d tried to avoid using offensive magic—most of her attacks were spells—and regulated his reserves for keeping constant Wall and Reflect spells up. At this point in a fight, he would normally call on one of his summons, but his _preferred_ one was currently frozen in the center of a quickly cast bubble of defensive spells and probably wouldn’t be able to help him anyway. How did one summon a summon that had already been summoned, but not by you? If she was telling the truth about having been the one to force the summoning—and how that was possible when the materia was in _Zack’s_ bracer—then she was probably keeping Silver out of the fight on purpose.

Ifrit and Odin wouldn’t answer either. Their materia remaining dark even as he switched them with some of his current slots, rolling to dodge the slow moving fire ball chasing him around the arena. Was she blocking them too?

His inattention led him to miss a step, the fire clipping him in the side and exploding in a wave of magic and heat. It knocked him back, some of the force being absorbed by the Wall spell, some of it veering away and rebounding on the woman. He saw it shatter before it reached her, much as the rest of the reflected spells had. He sucked in a pained breath, forcing himself to ignore the added burn of the mako working to repair the damage. He plucked a small container from his inventory, downing the foul tasting green liquid. The Elixir would help with the healing, and would give him the magic to cast another Wall and a Regen spell as well. He absently thanked anyone that was listening that he’d taken Sephiroth’s advice all those days ago. He’d started with some ten Elixirs. He only had a handful left. He would have been toast long ago if it weren’t for them.

Before he was back to his feet huge chucks of crystalline ice smashed into the stone floor around him. He rolled on the ground, kicking into a dash the moment he got his feet under him. He ended up directly beside the crazy lady—he hadn’t looked to where he’d dashed to, having been too worried about avoiding the falling ice to pay attention to it. Adrenalin and mako rushed through his veins, bringing with it a fire of strength and fury. He drew on it, remembering the times he’d worked beside Sephiroth, the time more recently he’d been training with him. He remembered Sephiroth’s smirk, his strength, his confidence…

And most importantly, his sword technique.

_Octaslash!_

It didn’t quite feel like Octaslash though. Something else sparked between each slice, a surge of strength. Of power. Octaslash focused on one point. Zack _moved,_ bouncing around the woman, making one heavy blow here. One there.

Eight strikes. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

With each blow the force seemed to increase, his sword sliding, scraping, and hissing as metal screeched against metal. There _were_ dents in her armor now. A few more swings. If the power kept growing with each one—and he _knew_ it would—then he might finally get through that armor!

_Twelve._

Her shield smashed to the ground, knocked free by a heavy blow to the gauntlet.

One of her “wings” collapsed to the ground, sheared off by another.

Her helmet flew free, once more releasing that golden hair.

 _Final strike_ —

She caught the Buster Sword with her staff, killing Zack’s momentum. He went to disengage, to try a different venue of attack, but she refused to let him. A twist of the stave and Zack’s shoulder exploded into pain, his arm going limp at his side. Dislocated? Easy enough to fix, he’d just have to pop it back into place after all this was done, the mako would take care of the rest.

Unfortunately, he could not wield the Buster Sword one handed. Not weakened like this. The tip clanked to the ground. Zack groaned in pain, finally letting the blade fall, hand going to his shoulder. A good shove and it should work—

An icy blast of wind bore into him, stripping him of the beneficial magic spells he’d kept up. It tore through his Wall. His Reflect. His Barrier. His _Regen._

All of a sudden he almost buckled from the pain, as the numbing side-effect of the regen spell was ripped away. His good hand went limp, unable to go through with his earlier plan. He almost sank to his knees, but he struggled to keep to his feet.

“ _Enough.”_ Her voice rang around him. Through him. It seared through the pain, “ _You have fought well, but my judgment comes.”_

He could _feel_ the magic building, intricate circles drawing themselves into the stone beneath him. He clenched his teeth, drawing on every ounce of power he had. Every ounce of energy. She was right in front of him. She was absorbed in her casting. He gathered a fist, and let it fly.

He didn’t remember anything else.

_x-x-x_

Youko watched, incredulously, as Zack _punched_ a goddess. In the gut. And then collapsed into her startled arms. She didn’t seem hurt by the blow, but the ominous red magic faded, and the build-up of power slowly ebbed away. She just held him carefully, thoughtfully. Deep green eyes searching his face.

Suddenly, the iron will holding him down faded, and Youko sprang to his feet, crossing the distance between where he’d been bound and where the goddess stood. She didn’t protest as Youko took the young man from her. He forgot about her completely, checking over the unconscious soldier. Hesitantly he forced the mangled shoulder back into place—luckily Zack was near enough to a human in his physiology that Youko’s assumption was correct—and he automatically began growing one of his healing herbs.

And then he froze. The herb was growing faster. Much faster than it should. The power he was using…it wasn’t _his._

He turned slowly, meeting the thoughtful face watching the both of them. She saw his unasked question, and inclined her head. “ _Continue. I will hold the bond as you work.”_

So Youko focused on tending the unconscious soldier. Luckily the dislocated shoulder had been the worst injury he could access. The rest appeared to be energy exhaustion, as the…magic in Zack’s body worked to heal itself. He could almost see it, a green glow traveling under the skin, concentrating in the areas of the most damage. Burns faded slowly, only the faintest of green wisps escaping from the edges of the tissue. Any cuts were already gone.

But Youko did what he could. He tore a strip from the goddess’s fallen wing-armor to bind the shoulder. He administered his herbs, one which would numb the pain, and another which would help bolster natural healing. At last there was nothing he could do but wait.

 _“In honor of his defense, I will overlook it this time.”_ The goddess’ voice reminded Youko of her presence. He lifted his head to see her still standing there, “ _But take this as your last warning. Do not try and shirk your obligations again. No matter the reason.”_

She crossed the stone floor, gathering the fallen sword with ease. She laid it gently at Zack’s side, who Youko had laid on the ground while he worked, head pillowed by the rest of the cloth he had cut from the “wing”.

“What did I agree to?” To his surprise, Youko found the words came out. “The terms. _Why_ did I bind myself to you?”

She turned those green, green eyes on him. “ _I cannot tell you why. That answer is locked within your own heart. As for the terms…”_

He felt his heart pounding in his ears as she paused, the silence seeming to stretch on and on. That was silly. He was just mist and magic here. He had no heart right now. Not a physical one.

“ _Service, to be initiated upon your body coming into your power once again. An Eidolon is charged to protect the one who holds the Oathstone. The proof of your contract.”_ She knelt, placing an armored finger on the red materia glowing gently in the metal—bracelet?—just above Zack’s glove. “ _I save lives, so they may save mine. The Calamity nears. Eidolons gravitate toward the humans at the nexus of fate. Those who may help. Whether they choose to do so or not…well, it is one of the failings of humans.”_

Suddenly, the power buoying Youko faded, and the light in the materia dimmed, flickering. He was overwhelmed by exhaustion—none of it his own. _Zack._ She’d transferred the bond back to _Zack._ Who was running on fumes as it was. He wouldn’t be able to hold out on his own for long.

She placed both her hands over the metal bracelet—armor—that held the colored glass orbs. It glowed. Shifting. Changing. Becoming something else, etched with the wings of angels.

 _“Give him your name, before you go.”_ She turned away, walking toward the rift, slowly dissolving into mist. Green mist. “ _And remember my warning. I do not normally accept mortals. Do not make me regret my decision.”_

And then the green faded away. Shouts rang out across the room. Youko spun. Two men were running towards them, from an opening in the wall others began to spill out. Three others in the same uniform—a purple version of Zack’s outfit—and then a handful of others, all dressed in long white coats.

He forced himself to his feet, summoning his whip and making it bloom, the coiled vine wrapped around his clawed hands. He snarled at the oncoming enemies, positioning himself between Zack and them. They ground to a halt, hands going uncertainly to their swords.

 _“_ Stop.” A nasal voice commanded, drawing the attention of the five combatants. Youko flattened his ears. Something felt off about that man. He smelled…tainted. The man had one of the long white coats, with long black hair and glasses that shone in the dim light. “I recognize it. It’s one of the boy’s summons. Leave it be. As for the rest of you,” He barked at the others, “I want every _inch_ of this cave recorded and measured. Get to work!”

They scrambled to do as he said. Obviously the man was in charge. The armed soldiers seemed uneasy, glancing between Youko, and the man who’d just given them the order. One of them stepped forward, hand still on his weapon, “Director, sir…Fair is _unconscious.”_

“Yes, yes.” The man waved it off, “It is an…anomaly…but this ability has been reported. Go help them with moving the equipment!” He snapped to two of the other guards, gesturing sharply toward the entrance, where some of the other white-clad men were struggling with some indescribable pieces of machinery. “And if you damage one piece…” The muttered threat had the soldier he was originally talking to shifting uneasily, before the ‘Director’ seemed to remember he was there, “What was it…? Oh yes. We shall just have to wait for either the first class to wake up and order the thing away, or for him to run out of magic. It is _highly_ unfortunate. I would dearly like to see the readings from the sensors…”

He inched toward Zack’s body, and Youko hefted his whip again. The man stopped and shook his head. Youko did _not_ like him. And was not about to let him any nearer.

Even after Zack had woken up, and Youko finally let himself dissolve into mist and return home, he felt those narrowed, far too curious eyes on his back.

x-x-x

 


	15. Consequences

Koenma waited. He’d sent Ayame out. Even George. From what he’d managed to get out of Hiei once the fire demon had awakened, and from the information he’d gathered from Spirit World’s defenses…well, this wasn’t something that involved any of the others. If word got out to his father that something like _this_ had happened…

He shuddered, his bottom already aching at the thought.

He’d lost track of how long it had been since he’d sent the other detectives away. Since he’d had that other power smash right through the Spirit World’s considerable defense, including, apparently Hiei’s own efforts. It _infuriated_ Koenma that something like this had been going on without his knowledge. It also didn’t make sense—if it _was_ Minerva… _why_ would she bother with _Kurama?_

Before he’d sent George away, he’d had the ogres find every scrap of information he had on the Goddess of Life. Every being of Koenma’s station and not-inconsiderable power and knowledge were aware of the multi-verse, and of the meddling goddess who could touch all worlds. He furiously flipped through the book, stopping momentarily on a general diagram.

Most texts depicted existence as a great tree, with the worlds held in the branches. It seemed a good enough analogy. Koenma even knew of the occasional demon or powerful psychic to attempt travel to the closer universes, even one or two succeeding—or dying a horrible death along the way. They _had_ lost a few souls that way. His father had been furious when he’d discovered those inconsistencies in the ledgers. Fortunately, unlike that…situation in Britain, there was nothing to be done about those ones.

One of these days he would have to figure out what to do about _that_ one. He was getting onto his father’s last thread of patience. Maybe he should just throw Yuusuke at the problem. That had a tendency to work out for the best. Just look at the Dark Tournament a few months back. Team Urameshi had been a desperate effort on Koenma’s part, despite his confidence in his team. It was one thing to be proud and believe in them. It was another to expect success against impossible odds.

Koenma shook his head, that would have to wait. This was worse. Kurama was an integral part of his team. _His_ team. Not his father’s. Koenma knew the others would likely kill each other if they were forced to work together without him. His _elite_ _team_ was compromised.

It didn’t make sense! Minerva’s attention was only drawn by a _god’s_ power. Some willingly sought her out. Others _she_ approached, offering aid in return for a few centuries worth of service. A pittance for a god.

Kurama was not one of those. A B-Class demon at best. Nothing to sneeze at, but not even near the potential someone like _Koenma_ had.

Not that Koenma would _ever_ agree to such a thing. His father had been sure to warn him, all those centuries ago. It wasn’t worth it, whatever she promised you. Because even when you complete your service, something gets left behind. She rips it from you, and nothing will ever be the same.

He shivered as his father’s voice rumbled in his mind, a memory. He shoved it away. Luckily, the quivering of the detection wards he’d placed drew his attention, straining against a sudden intrusion of energy. Koenma quickly smoothed the way—he’d been waiting for this.

He slid a bookmark into the page, and pulled himself out of his seat. Koenma climbed up on top of his desk, waiting, hands folded into his sleeves. It was quick. A shudder of energy—only noticeable because Koenma was looking for it, of course—and the red-head was waving on his feet, in the exact spot he’d been taken from hours ago. Koenma said nothing as the detective slumped, slipping to his knees, utterly exhausted. His energy was _drained._ A pale flicker of itself.

He felt a twinge of pity for the fox-turned-human. Whatever it was had done a number on him.

But he didn’t let his pity change his tone when he spoke. “You should have told me the moment you made the pact!” Tired green eyes lifted, focusing on him. Koenma continue, “When did you do it? Was it during the tournament? Karasu’s match?”

Kurama laughed. Weakly, but it was a laugh. He shook his head, swaying even while he did so. Koenma clenched his teeth on his pacifier, waving a hand and manipulating the energy making up the floor of his office. It deformed, rising into a gentle slope directly behind the detective, catching him as he nearly toppled backwards. The fox sighed, leaning gratefully against the molded tile. And it was this, more so than Kurama’s obvious exhaustion, that worried Koenma.

Just like Hiei, Kurama was never one to advertise his weakness. Either he trusted Koenma more than he let on (something Koenma wanted to doubt, considering how disrespectful the detectives as a whole were) or, like Hiei earlier, was too tired to care.

“Kurama.” He snapped, “I need an answer.”

“It seems…I am the last one to be informed I even _had_ a contract.”

Koenma frowned, “That is impossible. Minerva can only reach those who accept her terms _willingly._ ”

“Is that her name?” The fox’s words were distant, his eyelids drooping, “I shouldn’t be surprised you know of her. She spoke of gods.”

“Kurama. _Suuichi._ ” The sound of his human name jolted his eyes open again. They attempted to focus, shaking his head. “I can’t help you unless you _tell_ me. I _know_ this has been going on for _months._ Since the tournament at least.” Yuusuke had offhandedly mentioned a mission shortly after the tournament, where Kurama had disappeared during the fighting. Koenma hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Some demons had peculiar abilities like that. For Kurama to vanish in the middle of his office like that…well…They had collected enough samples of Minerva’s power over the millennia that the sensors had recognized it right away.

“I don’t _know,_ Koenma.” Kurama sighed, pushing himself up so that he was less slumped back on the protruding floor, and more leaning on it. He ran a hand through his red hair, working through the imaginary knots. It looked fine to the godling. “She mentioned my death granting me leniency. _Youko_ Kurama was the one bound, and the memories right before my death are sketchy at best.”

“Good, good.” Koenma muttered. Anything like that was good. Loop holes. He could use that. He closed the book with the diagram, swapping its place with another, much smaller one. This one was written by his father on Minerva’s contracts. Koenma never asked, and King Enma never said, but he suspected that his father had once made a bargain with the Goddess. “I assume the reason it resurfaced was because you re-awakened your demon-self during the Tournament—Hiei mentioned you learned to block it?” _Very reluctantly_ , Koenma added, thinking back to the uncooperative fire-demon with a huff. He began flipping through the pages. Death would usually nullify such agreements, even with a powerful entity such as Minerva. Not that a god could _die_ easily. One of the spirit world’s processing rituals involved cleansing a soul of supernatural bargains. Of course Kurama never would have undergone such a ritual, since he avoided proper processing the way he did.

Kurama nodded. “The energy is fueled from…the other side.” Kurama sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes, “If my summoner was in mortal danger, I had no choice. But less dire circumstances I could shrug off by refusing the call.”

That…freedom in answer did not match the notes his father had kept, of the sudden, irresistible calls. The leniency Kurama had mentioned, perhaps? Koenma frowned, wracking his brain, “Was that what it was today? Mortal danger?”

Kurama moved to shake his head…and then stopped. He let out a sigh, “No…no…that was not Zack. _She_ was the one who summoned me.”

“Perhaps we can work with this…” Koenma muttered, scanning the pages, “With your death, any previously binding agreements should be null and void. You said she spoke of leniency—maybe if I arrange to meet with her, I can argue for your release. _I_ currently have the claim on your soul with the debt you are working off for stealing the artefacts. I can’t imagine she would be too stubborn on the matter—how you caught her attention in the first place is beyond me—but Youko Kurama is _dead._ The Fruit of Past Life would not constitute as a resurrection, and you yourself have said that you _are_ Suuichi Minamino now, if with a little extra baggage. She cannot bind an unwilling soul. Perhaps she would try to negotiate a new contract, but even _then…”_

He trailed off as he heard something. Laughter. Kurama was _laughing_ softly. “What’s so funny? I’m trying to get you out of centuries of servitude here!”

“It is too late, Koenma.” The fox shook his head, “I agreed to help my summoner. I re-accepted the terms of the contract without knowing there _was_ one in the first place. She made it _quite_ clear to me that my period of grace is now over—any further refusals would be taken as a breach of the terms.”

Koenma froze. The fox pushed himself to his feet, he was still unsteady, but he appeared to be recovered enough to stand now. Kurama brushed his hair out of his eyes, “It was my demon side who initially made the bargain. Who was curious about that strange world and the power it offered, keeping it between myself and Hiei. But it was my human side who grew attached to the one I was protecting, and led to my unwitting acceptance. If I’d come to you initially, and you’d made this same argument…it might have worked. Now…”

He let it trail off. Koenma let out a hissed breath. Suddenly it felt like something was weighing him down. Dread? He’d desperately hoped he could find a way out of this. It wasn’t all for a selfish reason. He DID want to keep his star team together. He liked to brag that _he_ had been the ones to pluck the misfits from nothing and they’d been catapulted to some variation of stardom after the Dark Tournament. But it wasn’t _all that._ It wasn’t even because of how displeased it would make his father to merely _hear_ Minerva’s name.

“Kurama…” He didn’t want to say it. “Do you realize what this means?”

Spiritual bonds were…powerful things. But a soul could only be held by one.

Those hazy green eyes, usually so sharp and cool, were unfocused, blurry with fatigue and resignation. “Yes.” His voice was quiet. Soft. “I have an obligation that supersedes that of the Spirit World. The call could come in class. It could come in the middle of a conversation with my mother. It could come during a briefing. Or a mission itself. And I would have to answer, or risk forfeiting my life.”

“It is a breach of your parole.” Koenma said just as quietly, “The terms were that you work as a Spirit Detective.”

Demons were not allowed to live in the human world without authorization. There were exceptions, and those non-human eating and benevolent demons who applied for the visa had to have a squeaky clean slate to be even considered, and hide themselves completely from normal humans. They’d avoided it thanks to Kurama’s service, which allowed him to live with his human family only minimal disruption. But now…while Koenma knew he could get Kurama out of his remaining jail sentence for breaking into the vault, and then shattering the Forlorn Hope…

“I expected as much, once I thought about it some more.” Kurama was _too_ calm for this. “Hiei made the argument in the beginning, but I hadn’t anticipated this. I always thought I _could_ end this if I needed to. I cannot be relied upon to complete a mission, thus I cannot, in good faith, remain a Spirit Detective.”

“Father will never allow you to live in the Human World.” Koenma said with a sigh, “Not with our hold on you null and void, not to mention the much higher probability of some normal human seeing _something._ He is already wary of yours and Hiei’s growing power, especially after the Dark Tournament. He does not trust demons.”

Koenma’s team was splintering in his hands, and he could do _nothing_ to stop it. What was he to do about _Hiei?_ Kurama was the one the fire-demon tolerated on the team. _Perhaps_ Yuusuke could keep Hiei and Kuwabara in line…but Kurama had been the one to keep the others pointed in the right direction. To keep them focused, on track, and to point out things Yuusuke and Kuwabara were too inattentive (or dense) to notice, and Hiei too much of a loner to bother to mention. Perhaps it would work for a while…but what about _eventually?_ Eventually something big would come up. Like that mission in Britain—he _couldn’t_ send the team now. Throw Yuusuke, Hiei and Kuwabara into a human _boarding school?_ _Undercover?_ With the one he trusted to keep it together no longer on the team?

“I had always intended to return to the Makai… I had just hoped it would be _after_ my mother’s life-time.” Koenma almost _wished_ Kurama would get angry. _Anything_ other than this…blank apathy. “How long do I have to put my affairs in order?”

“It will take about a week to put the paperwork through.” Koenma responded, and then he hesitated. Awkwardly, all the while feeling like a guilty child who worried their parent might hear (which was completely true) he added, “I can put in a leave request for an additional two weeks. After that, my father would likely ask questions when he reviews the files. If it hadn’t happened within the wards, we could probably fudge it more.”

If not hide it altogether. Koenma’s brain was already furiously thinking about how he could keep it quiet—even as a small part of him was calling him _mad_ for even _thinking_ of hiding something like this from his father—but the security measures had been shattered by Minerva’s searching power, and such an event could not be kept under wraps for long. True there _wasn’t_ anything linking the event to Kurama specifically, other than that the detectives were in his office when it happened…

But his father would ask _why_ one of his detectives wasn’t assigned any missions. He kept a close eye on them. Yuusuke’s team was the only one in the spirit world’s employ that had demons as permanent members. Occasionally one or two demons would sign on as a consultant for a single mission, to wipe clean the slates, so to speak. It had been that precedent that had allowed Koenma to sign them up initially, but he’d moved them to full time after how well the Saint Beast fiasco turned out. One mission could never wipe away a crime as heinous as stealing the artifacts of darkness. If Koenma _hadn’t_ managed it…well, taking out the Saint Beasts would have lessened their prison sentences significantly, and taken execution off the table but…

“I don’t _want_ to do this, Kurama.”

He didn’t . He _didn’t._ Kurama had been the most cooperative of the spirit detectives. And of the two demons, he had the tie to the human world that Hiei did not. He _cared_ about it because of his family.

“ _I know.”_ The red head didn’t meet his eyes. He turned, and left, leaving Koenma alone, standing on his desk, wringing his hands as he fought the helplessness. He _had_ to figure something out. Maybe there was something he could do. There had to be _something._

“BOTON!” He bellowed into the loudspeaker on his desk, pressing the red call button with the tip of his shoe. There were sounds of scrambling as the ogres on the other end panicked about his request. Finally, they put George on, who seemed to be unanimously voted their representative when Koenma was in a bad mood. “She’s not here, sir.”

“THEN GO _FIND_ HER! I WANTED HER IN MY OFFICE FIVE MINUTES AGO!”

He needed help with this, and she was one of the few he knew cared about the Detectives more than they feared King Enma’s wrath.

x-x-x

Kurama didn’t speak to his mother. Not yet. He had to figure out how to break the news to her. The news that he was leaving. For good. Koenma had given him the time to do that, at least. She’d been busy anyway, rushing around in that frazzled way that meant she was going out to meet someone…special. Maybe that was a good thing. If she had someone else, even if it was Hatanaka-san, then it might make things…easier for her.

Of course he was more worried about her reaction. How the sudden parting would make her feel. He didn’t think about the ache _he_ felt. About the hollow emptiness that had settled into his chest after he processed exactly what had happened.

It had taken hours for Zack to wake up. Hours Youko had spent thinking about his situation, while keeping an eye on those nervous soldiers. Koenma had only verified Kurama’s own suspicions with his proclamation.

Leave the Spirit Detectives. He could deal with that. He trusted that the others would be able to handle themselves, if push came to shove. Kuwabara was smarter than most gave him credit, Hiei actually _cared_ even if he didn’t show it, and Yuusuke was more persistent and stubborn than a cockroach. They would be fine. Perhaps Boton would join them more often now, taking over the calm voice of reason that Kurama would leave behind.

But…leave the Human World? Leave his _mother?_ The mother he’d vowed to protect and watch over in return for her kindness, her love, all those years he’d treated her like trash?

A loose cannon. He knew that was what King Enma would think of him, freed of his obligation to the Spirit World.

Freed. An odd term. He felt more as if he’d traded one debt for another. And he had a harder time living with the consequences of this one.

All those months ago, if he’d just gone to Koenma then…

_Zack might have died._

He heard the window rattling in its frame as he closed the door behind him, the glass pane sliding up as a red-eyed shadow slipped in to the room. Kurama wasn’t surprised to find Hiei had been waiting for him.

Not a word passed between them. Hiei sat on the window frame. Kurama stood with his back to the door. Green met red and held. Hiei looked…tired. Even his hair seemed to droop. The fox felt the stirrings of guilt. Hiei only looked this way because he’d tried to help.

“Well?” For once it was Hiei who broke the silence. It shattered around them, a ball thrown through a window, leaving jagged pieces to slash open any hand that reached for it. “What did the pacifier brat have to say?”

“I am off the mission.” The words sounded…hollow even to him. Kurama sighed, closing his eyes as he crossed the length of his room. He could feel the weight of Hiei’s gaze following him. Curiously, he did not feel the ever present hum of the Jagan eye. “Pending review, I am being removed from the team.”

Those menacing shards seemed to surround him as Kurama eased himself into the chair at his desk. He opened his eyes only to be met with one of his school textbooks laying on the surface, a notebook full of neatly written notations just to the side. There wouldn’t be a point to study further, would there? He would miss the Human propensity to write everything down. Perhaps he could talk Boton or Hiei into bringing him some new books from time to time?

“Hn.” Really, had he been expecting much more? Not really. So he was surprised when Hiei continued, “I wonder if the Detective and the Buffoon will be able to survive.”

Kurama turned swiftly. Hiei had slid from the window ledge, his sword a naked length of metal across his knees. Kurama wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the cloth, but he was using it to clean the blade. “What do you mean, Hiei?”

Red eyes flicked up at him, and then down to his work again, shoulders rising and falling in a disinterested shrug, “Do you honestly expect me to continue with this debacle alone? I refuse to waste my time. The Detective does not need babysitting. Since the Dark Tournament there has been no need for all of us. These missions are _busy_ work. I signed on to clear my name. That has been done.”

If that were true, Hiei would have been gone the moment the Saint Beast mission was over. Kurama frowned, “You do realize you would be barred from the Human World.”

Another shrug.

“…and…Yukina.”

Hiei tensed, hand frozen in mid-polish. There was the chink in his uncaring armor. Hiei had stayed with the team initially to search for Yukina. And once they’d found her…

She was living under Genkai’s protection. In the Human World. There was little protection and watching he could do from the Makai. Especially if he continued to refuse to tell her the truth. Kurama doubted she would leave her new and safe life to return to the dangers of the Makai unless Hiei did. Even then…

In a way. Kurama and Hiei had the same reasons for staying. They both wanted to watch out for one they cared for. One that they could not—would not—bring in to the horrors and violence of the Demon World.

Of course Kurama had grown to care for Yuusuke and Kuwabara as well, and had stayed on with the team to aid them, counting them as worthwhile allies and even friends. But they were not the reason Kurama dreaded leaving. As Hiei had said, they no longer needed babysitting.

“…I _told_ you this would be trouble.” Hiei released his held breath, the hissed rush of air the only indication of his bottled up frustration. Kurama fancied he could see the faintest heat-shimmer rising from the fire-demon’s skin. “ _Why_ did you let it get this far? What changed?”

Kurama didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure anything _had_ changed. He’d just finally been told the rules he should have known all along.

“Hiei.” He said at last, drawing the fire demon’s attention, “I need to ask a favor of you.”

“The last favor I did nearly fried my Jagan. I _cannot_ mess with that energy again.”

The admission was a grudging one, and it explained why Kurama couldn’t feel the cursed-eye’s youki. Hiei hated admitting weakness. Helplessness. The inability to _do_ something. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. The consequences of further interference on that front are quite clear. No. When you are up for it, I wish you to find something for me.”

Red eyes narrowed warily. “What?”

He sighed and threaded his fingers into his hair, thinking back to that green place, and a beautiful, but cold face.

_You cannot be expected to remember that which you agreed to in death._

Koenma thought he’d made the bargain before he died. Kurama wasn’t quite so sure. If that were the case, the magic would have had no hold on him. A new life. A new name. A new _soul._ His energy was _different_ now.

“A memory.”

Of the day he died.


	16. Into the Basement

It had taken Kunsel a few days to find the passageway, carefully combing the manor in the hour or so he allowed himself to pursue his personal mystery. The stone wall—the _only_ stone structure in the house—ran from the top floor, to the bottom floor. Originally he’d considered the change to be decoration. Perhaps a chimney of some sort. But if that were the case, why did it persist through two floor’s worth of rooms? Why was there no sign of a hearth? The upper story room—a study of some sort—appeared to be the best maintained of the entire house. Monsters hadn’t broken the furniture, even after all these years. It was covered in dust, the cloth covering the chairs old and worn, faded, but lacking the rips and tears from monster claws as those found in other rooms.

His eyes had been drawn to the wall. Nothing _seemed_ out of place. Luckily his summon was even better at sniffing out secrets than he was.

 _Here. A_ small black bat clung to the stone, tapping one claw-tipped wing against a stone that…really didn’t seem different from any other along the wall. _Childishly simple. There are no spells to deflect or deceive the senses. Nor any false leads._

“Not everyone is a master of lies and trickery.” Kunsel responded, inspecting the stone. It was the same type as the rest of the wall…same color, and didn’t seem out of place in its shape. Perhaps it was a tad smaller… Located closer to the right-hand wall than the center…it didn’t _seem_ like a trigger or anything.

_I prefer the term mischief, but I do admit I am well versed in the other two._

The bat released its grip and filled those small leathery wings with air. Soon it was fluttering around Kunsel’s shoulder, clawed wingtips catching onto the edges of his shoulder guards. Kunsel eyed the summon as it settled for clinging underneath the curved metal, vanishing beneath the piece of armor. He could _feel_ it shift, drawing from his magic reserves to fuel the change. What it decided to be now was anyone’s guess. The blasted thing changed as either the situation or his sense of humor demanded.

He sincerely wished he hadn’t been forced to call the summon when he’d fought the safe’s guardian the other day. It insisted on hanging around to solve this little mystery. He could go _months_ without it hanging around, only to have circumstances catch its interest. The summon had all but he _demanded_ to be there when Kunsel went looking for the basement.

Oh well. Unwelcome guest or not, Kunsel wasn’t giving up on this mystery. His previous training and his innate curiosity forbade it. If there was something fishy, he usually would find it, sooner or later. It _was_ his job, after all. He put his gloved palm to the stone his summon had indicated. Nothing happened. He frowned, imagining he could hear his summon laughing at him.

_Fool. What is special about you that normal people do not have?_

Special? Training. Materia. Neither of those seemed overly useful. Was there anything specific to ShinRa?

SOLDIER. All active labs had a guard detail of SOLDIERs. Or at least that was the company policy.

…Enhancements.

Summoning up that extra strength he was always careful to control, he _pushed._

Something _clicked._ A grinding sound, as machinery decades old began to whirr to life. The rock to his left began to quiver. Seams he hadn’t even noticed appeared in between the bricks, an entire slab of the wall lifting up and shifting to reveal a dark passage way into the wall. Into darkness.

Even his enhanced senses couldn’t see well in the gloom. He uncapped his active summon materia, letting the red light spill into the pit.

A lift shaft? Perhaps the machinery had been dismantled to prevent intruders from easily surviving the fall. Kunsel couldn’t see the bottom. The light from his materia didn’t reach that far. He wasn’t keen on throwing himself into the abyss without knowing the distance. A full-fledged SOLDIER might be able to survive falling from a steep cliff, but he wasn’t willing to risk it. Maybe he could climb? He swung the materia’s light around, focusing on the sides of the shaft.

Thin, worn planks of wood wound around the edges of the space, really, they were more scaffolding than anything else. Had they been used for maintaining the lift perhaps? Most elevator shafts had metal ladders running up the sides. These wooden planks were old, and a few were missing. Would they even support his weight?

He made his way carefully, down, down the space. Wood creaked beneath him, but they held. Mostly. One or two crumbled, but at his pace he was easily able to just step onward to the next one. His materia served well enough as a light, but soon he came to a gap too wide for him to see. He couldn’t tell if it was wide enough to jump, or if the shaft was shallow enough by this point to just drop.

_Allow me._

The smooth voice purred, and he felt something shift beneath his armor. He saw something dark drop out of the corner of his eye, felt the tug on his magic as the shape writhed, twisting and growing and elongating.

Green light began to glow, shining in luminescent patches along the thing’s scaly side. It traced delicate patterns in the gloom, sweeping lines and small patterned dots. It appeared to be…some sort of floating glowing snake, thin frills extending in a flowing train from its body. It seemed almost like some bizarre cross between a snake and one of those really decorative fish the wealthy coveted so. Kunsel couldn’t help staring.

 _Beautiful, isn’t it?_ The pointed head turned to admire the glowing patterns, before _swimming_ in the air, the green glow not illuminating much, but easy to see against the black backdrop. _I don’t know why you gape so, your world has much stranger beings than this._

 _“_ Everything else has been _normal._ Recognizable. _”_ Even if…oddly unmutated. But he’d thought that a conscious decision on the summon’s part.

_Yours is not the only world I have visited, this is a souvenir from one of them. Ah. The edge is here, the wood appears to be sturdy enough. I will remain over the scaffolding. It will survive a jump._

And it did. He aimed for the gentle green glow. He heard the wood shift under his boots, but nothing cracked. Nothing crumbled, and Kunsel continued down the remaining stairs with little issue. There was another door here. It was rotting, wood this time, but not treated like the stairs. Time had not been kind to it. It only took a shove for it to splinter, letting faint light trickle into the dark shaft. Kunsel blinked at the sudden glow, cracking the rest of the door and pushing through.

Immediately he felt the floor change. Metal shifted to cobbled stone beneath his boots, and he could hear the drip of water from somewhere further down the way. The hallway was lit with dimly glowing crystals, peeking out from a layer of moss that nearly covered every wall. Some sort of proto-materia, Kunsel decided, studying one of the tiny clusters near the door. They were clear, completely transparent beyond a residual green glow lingering within the depths. Kunsel’s summon was nosing at them.

_Hmph. These were removed too soon. The energy matrix is unfocused._

Which followed Kunsel’s line of thinking quite well. Materia _was_ his area of interest, one he’d pursued for more than just personal curiosity. He’d spent much of the last few years studying the materia generation in Midgar’s mako reactors. It wasn’t safe for the run of the mill scientists.

He’d also been able to keep an eye on a number of the Science Department’s so-called…secret labs that way as well. Clandestine personal projects were encouraged, so long as the company had claim to use the findings as they saw fit, but _someone_ needed to keep an eye on it.

 _No one suspects a SOLDIER._ Kunsel thought with a grim smile beneath his helmet. To most of the Science Department, SOLDIER was dumb muscle and nothing more.

He carefully packed away that train of thought; it was one he’d gone down often enough before. Right now he had a basement to explore. The lights on the upper floors had worked, once he’d found the proper switches—that meant this place was still connected to the reactor’s power. If he could just find one down here…The hallway lights should have a control near the elevator shaft. It would be logical.

He felt his way along the wall, leaving his summon studying the manufactured light crystals dotting the wall. Emergency lights, Kunsel supposed. They were enough to line the way, but didn’t do much to cut through the gloom.

Eventually he felt something through his glove, a raised section of the wall that was far too smooth to be caveats in the stone. The moment he touched it, it depressed, sinking into the wall with a loud click. The hallway flickered to life with a faint hum as decades old power-systems chugged back to life. Kunsel whirled around at a shriek, winged shapes dropped from the ceiling, where lights were flickering on one by one, set into the stone of the ceiling. _Bats._ But these were not the small unmutated bats Kunsel’s summon had mimicked. These ones were the size of his head, if not larger, with glowing red eyes and tattered wings that should not be able to fly.

The nearest one swooped at him, chattering in a series of sounds too high for normal hearing, but just barely within range of his. The lightning spell was almost instantaneous. A cackle of energy and the creature dropped from the sky, smoldering to twitch on the ground. Red vapor began to rise from its body.

The others wheeled about above him, but they appeared to be _leaving_ with great haste rather than attacking. They streamed down the corridor in a giant river of furred bodies and leathery wings, turning off from the main hallway as each light flickered on one by one.They didn’t seem to like the light.

Or _was_ that the reason? Kunsel reached for his Scan materia this time, casting it. There was the hum of magic around him—the console hadn’t just been for _light._ It appeared to have activated another matrix of materia. Another monster repellent? Kunsel couldn’t imagine it was practical to let them roam free while the building was occupied.

Regardless, the hallway was now lit, revealing doors set into the rough, moss covered stone. Many doors. Most didn’t appear to have an obvious keyhole. Some were wood; others had the dull sheen of metal. Most were locked, some sort of keypad set into the wall beside them.

His scan was picking up something. Something that wasn’t one of those bats he could vaguely hear far down the tunnel. It was closer, but off the main hallway. Behind one of the doors. He followed it, leaving the summon behind for the moment. If it wished to join him, it would eventually.

They key was a heavy weight in his pocket as he came to an uncertain stop before a wooden door. This one was in a much better shape than the door between the lift shaft and the corridor. It appeared to be treated, reinforced with metal. A large keyhole was cut into the metal plate near the side, and the key that Kunsel had picked up from the safe fit easily into the space. However, he hesitated. The larger scan signal was coming from behind there. Supposedly the body of a Turk was behind this door. But…Scan picked up active concentrations of mako—which doubled as the life-energy indicator for monsters and the occasional higher class SOLDIER. The monster in the safe had been a trap. Could that signal be another? Another monster, waiting to spring on whoever dared pry into ShinRa’s secrets?

There was no _way_ a human could have survived for twenty-five years…

Kunsel checked his materia, and then pulled out the fire-arm he’d found in the safe. He was not going to be taken by surprise this time.

The lock protested with age as he turned the key, but it _did_ turn. The door was heavy even for his enhancements, and scraped across the stone floor. The lights in here were also on the same circuit as the ones in the hallway, a single light shined down on a raised dias. _Coffins_ were arranged in the room, lids askew to show the white of clean bone within. Kunsel felt sick. Had the scientists left people to die in here? Sealed away as they left?

The one in the middle was closed, the lid still shut tight. Kunsel canceled his Scan spell. He knew exactly where it was coming from. There was nowhere else it could be. His boots crunched against the rubble littering the floor. There were chunks torn out of the walls, the small crystals left scattered and dead underfoot. The only light was the bright one overhead. This place would have been pitch black if it weren’t for it.

Kunsel didn’t even get to touch the coffin’s lid. It went flying into the air, landing with the crash and splintering of wood against stone. Kunsel immediately cast a barrier, deflecting the scattered splinters around him, eyes locked on the shape that flipped out of the coffin. It was…a man. Or man-shaped at the very least. He crouched on the thick edge of the container, red cloth flapping around him like wings, black hair falling in untidy tangles around his face. Red eyes—not Tifa’s reddish-brown, but red as bright as the cloth he wore—examined the man before him.

“That uniform…” The word was a whisper. But it _was_ a word. This was no monster. To be registering on the Scan materia…

_I have scientifically altered him…_

A SOLDIER’s mako enhancements would show up during a Scan. Had this man undergone some prototype SOLDIER procedures? That wouldn’t explain how he’d survived so long… SOLDIER enhanced the body’s endurance…but lifespan?

Then again the program _was_ only an odd thirty years old…

_The ShinRa mansion was abandoned twenty five years ago._

…was _this_ where the SOLDIER process had been created? It had never been credited to one of the labs Kunsel _had_ known about.

“Has ShinRa returned to this place to begin the nightmare anew? Has Hojo returned to taunt me for my failure?”

 _Hojo_. The current Director of the Science Department. This was _his_ lab? No. It couldn’t be. Professor Hojo hadn’t been Director when this place was built. Perhaps he’d taken over…

And…there was something familiar about this man’s face. It nagged at him. Those red eyes. He’d seen them before. On an image. But not in the personnel files. Blast it. He knew the names and faces of every SOLDIER and Turk he’d ever worked with, but he’d never bothered to do research on past members. Unless they were important.

“I doubt Hojo would send you here for me. He knows our next meeting would mean his death.” Those eyes were boring into him, “Speak. Who are you to wake me?”

“Kunsel. SOLDIER Second Class.” Kunsel considered everything. _Could_ this be the Turk he was looking for? He’d expected to find a corpse… The mansion had been abandoned for _decades._

_There are secrets even a Turk could be killed for…_

“SOLDIER…so they succeeded. Hmph, no matter. Leave me be, SOLDIER. Allow me to return to my nightmare.”

_So they succeeded…_

“ _That project…caused the death of a good man.”_ Veld, in one of his rare moods of reminiscence. He didn’t much like SOLDIERs, but it had been he who sponsored Kunsel’s application for the program. _“We are Turks. We aren’t paid to think about the consequences. Merely the job. But sometimes you wonder if it is worth it, in the end.”_

A good man…

“Wait!”

The man had appropriated a mostly intact lid from one of the other coffins, and was in the midst of propping it up along the edge, so he could more easily pull it shut again. Kunsel stepped forward, “Who _are_ you? Why are you here? This place—this lab—not even the _Turks_ know about it.”

“Why are _you_ here, SOLDIER?” The man responded without looking up, tangled locks of hair hiding his face. That hair…it wasn’t even or neat by any stretch of the imagination. It was as if…it had just been allowed to grow. Kunsel caught the gleam of gold amidst that red cloak as the man settled down in the coffin once more. Metal. Armor? “There is nothing here. Nothing but shattered dreams and pain. This place deserves to be forgotten, left to rot at the mercy of history.”

 _Why?_ Why _was_ he here? This wasn’t his mission. His mission was the guard the town, not explore the mansion. It wasn’t even his _other_ mission.

_Once the mission is complete…only then can we be good people._

Kunsel took a breath, and pulled off his helmet. He held it loosely under his arm. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and the air tasted dank. Stale. _Old._ He didn’t know why he did it. If this person was from the birth of the SOLDEIR program…he wouldn’t recognize significance of what he was hiding.

“We don’t leave people behind.” That was the reason. He had a chance to be a good person. A chance to avoid all the lying and _help_ someone. Kunsel had seen horrible things, keeping an eye on the Science Department, but he hadn’t been able to act. Not without compromising his mission. “Whoever you were…we _would not_ have left you.”

Turks didn’t leave their own.

The man was silent, considering. Would he realize the implications of those words?

“You…were not always a SOLDIER, were you?” Kunsel shook his head slowly. “Then you should understand. When the company says you die. You die. No one questions it. I _died._ Killed in action, defending the company’s interests. In a way I was.” A snort, “Only it was another company man who shot me.”

Those eyes drifted shut again. “Just…leave. And turn off the lights behind you. They irritate the demons.”

_Demons?_

The lid slid shut. The room silent as death once more. Kunsel couldn’t even hear the man breathing.

_You come searching for a corpse, and find a monster instead. Interesting is it not?_

“He isn’t a monster.” Kunsel snapped back, he could feel the summon’s amusement in the far corner of his mind. The words rang in the air, and Kunsel shot a look at the lid. It didn’t stir. He shook his head and left the room, pulling the door shut. His summon was waiting for him outside in the hallway, faintly glowing patterns muted beneath the overhead lights.

_He thinks he is._

“How would you know?”

 _Simple. I can hear them snarling. Angry. Beasts that have been caged, and long to break free and_ kill.

Kunsel thought to himself, turning to look further down the hallway. Maybe there was something down there he could use. Information. If he could find something about the man, then he might be able to find a way to convince him to leave.

But…should he even bother? The door was now unlocked. If the ex-Turk wanted to leave, he could. Wasn’t that enough? It wasn’t his business, wasn’t it? He’d done what he could.

…Red eyes were not something one usually forgot. He considered it, trying to remember.

A photograph. Sitting on a desk. In someone’s office.

_“…my partner…”_

The hallway opened up. He pushed through the door. A slab of dull metal, with places to clip heavy duty restraints. He’d seen them often enough in the medical ward. Operating tables for SOLDIERs, where restraining them was necessary for the practitioner’s life. An empty glass tube, man-sized, crusted with green residue. Mako?

He turned, the room branched off. Here he froze. Shelves upon _shelves_ of books lined the walls, a large desk sat in the middle. A _library._

He was only vaguely aware of the tug on his magic, his summon shifting and growing into a dark-haired man, dressed in stylish green and brown leathers. Kunsel didn’t need to look. He knew he’d see a matching _hunger_ in those green eyes.

x-x-x

The troopers didn’t see Kunsel for the rest of the evening. Nor did he appear to give them their orders the next day.

The other two took it as permission to take a vacation, heading to the tavern to drink and harass the local barmaid, the innkeeper’s daughter. Cloud stayed at his post long into the night, but his eyes were not turned outwards. They lingered on ShinRa Mansion, wondering if his mother had been right after all.

Another set watched the town from the mountainside. And the owner was growing _very_ impatient.

It was time he took matters into his own hands. He was running out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there are formatting issues. For some reason Ao3 likes to mess with some of it when I post it...


	17. Cleansing by Fire

_“He isn’t a monster.”_

The words stung him. They would not let him sleep. Vincent stared up at the darkness that was his world, focusing on that tiny sliver of light along the edges. The lights. The SOLDIER had not turned them off. He’d only managed to get to sleep in total darkness, Galian Beast’s claws having torn out and crushed every one of the crystals that had once peppered the wall.

Who had the SOLDIER been talking to?

 _Why_ would he say that? He claimed to know nothing about Vincent. About his sins. His failures.

The light lingered at the edge of his vision, even as he closed his eyes.

The light. The light kept the monsters away. It irritated the demons locked in Vincent’s soul. They could not escape—not like the bats or the YinYangs. Those would have retreated by now, to the breeding caverns deliberately carved along the outskirts of the central complex. They would wait. Wait until the lights were turned off again. Then they would return.

But the lights were still on. How long had it been since Vincent had woken? He lost track of time in the darkness, trying to force himself to sleep.

If the lights were still on…was the SOLDIER still here?

_“We don’t leave people behind.”_

That hadn’t been naïve boasting. It rang _true._

It sounded like his partner.

Veld would have been a good leader, one day.

“ _Who can we trust, Vincent, if we cannot trust ourselves?”_

A heavy sigh escaped Vincent’s lips, and before he realized it, he had a gloved hand pressing against the wood above him. He hadn’t noticed it, but it seemed like he had made a decision.

He didn’t throw the lid off this time. He hadn’t been shocked out of a nightmare by the sound of heavy boots and the angry buzzing of his demons. He slid it off, hearing it thud as it settled with one edge against the stone dais, the other resting on the lip of his prison. His body, which should have been stiff with inactivity given the state of the once clean room—not to mention the shiny white bones he could see in the coffins surrounding him—responded to him willingly. Almost _too_ well. Coiled power itched at him under his skin.

A memory surfaced. Guards. Hojo’s guards. Trying to restrain him. He’d thrown them off. One after another. Claws tore into flesh, blood splattered everywhere. He was mad with grief, remembering Hojo’s unconcerned face once he’d told him that Lucrecia died in childbirth…

His demons. Vincent felt them rise at the memory. He released the emotions, forcing them back down again. He stood before one of the open coffins, now just a pile of bones. More than one body had made this place their final bed.

He remembered them before they’d become loose bones and skulls. They stared up at him with empty sockets. Scorning him for being alive. He’d been the one to place them in their resting places once they’d finally died. Before he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence. The isolation. And he’d fallen into never ending nightmares.

More of Hojo’s ruined lives. It had amused the scientist. He’d locked them all away in this room, not wanting to bother with the…mess of executions. And Vincent had been too valuable. Perhaps he’d thought to leave food for the beast once Vincent finally snapped.

Vincent hadn’t known their names. Two had gone mad from mako addiction. The others comatose, suffering from varying severity of mako poisoning. The _SOLDIER_ project had stolen many lives before Lucrecia. She’d merely been the last straw a worn Turk had been able to take.

_A dead Turk now._

Or he should be.

 _“Complete the mission first.”_ Veld’s voice came back to him, whispering to him through the years, _“Only then can we afford to be good people.”_

Vincent hadn’t been able to complete his mission. It had gotten him killed, and then shunted off and forgotten. Any good he could have done…He’d failed. He’d failed Lucrecia. He’d even failed these poor saps that had been left in his care. One by one they’d died. The mad ones by Vincent’s hand when they’d turned on the others…

It made him want to crawl back into the coffin. He should be like these others. He _deserved_ it.

And that was dangerous territory. Vincent turned abruptly away from the gaping casket, toward the deceptive door. It appeared to be wood. It was not. The truth shown in the markings. Long, thin slashes raked the wood. Claw marks, over and over again. Galian had raged against the imprisonment, only to have the claws bite deep enough to bounce off hardened metal.

He hesitantly reached out to touch it. It was closed. There was no knob on this side. No key hole. Vincent would have been able to escape if there had. Long ago. There had been a time, shortly after his imprisonment, when he’d had the _will_ to escape. That had eroded away. All that was left now was guilt, ghosts, and…

Shards. Shards of a broken will scattered around him. Did he dare to step out of the safe circle of apathy? Would they slice his bare feel to ribbons?

He pushed. The door didn’t budge. It only opened inward. There was no knob.

He spotted indentations dug into the wood. Five points. Made by razor sharp claws oh so long ago.

The pointed tips of his gauntleted fingers fit into those grooves, echoing the motions of a desperate man, so long ago. He squeezed, digging them deeper. The door shifted. Back then it had shifted, and then stuck, held tight by a bolt Vincent had been unable to remove. The SOLDIER unlocked it to enter. But did he relock it upon leaving?

He drew on that coiled power, straining, pulling on the door with one step backward. And then another. It stood. Unmoving.

And then with a heavy grinding sound it began to slide.

Vincent was _free._

He stood in the long corridor of rock, almost at a loss for what to do. One way was freedom. The other, torture. Memories.

Guilt would be everywhere. He could never escape it.

Light glimmered down, down toward the bowels of the lab. Towards the library.

Vincent turned his back on the lift. On the shaft that would take him out of this place. Take him up to the open sky and fresh air. He didn’t deserve those things.

His only thought was to prevent this mansion from claiming another.

x-x-x

_You may wish to wake. We are not alone._

Kunsel jerked awake. There something looming over him. Instincts took over during his momentary confusion, immediately going for a weapon and pushing himself away from the desk. Desk? But he wasn’t in Midgar? The air smelled of dust and damp, papers and books.

“That is not a SOLDIER’s weapon.”

Amusement. He could _feel_ amusement. His summon? No. His summon couldn’t talk. Not out loud.

Summons shouldn’t talk _period._ His was special.

Eventually his senses caught up with his awareness, and Kunsel recognized the man standing on the other side of the desk. Red eyes watched Kunsel carefully. The ex-Turk. From the coffin. Papers had been scattered by his sudden movements, and one book teetered on the edge of the desk, waiting for a push to send it tumbling off.

And then Kunsel realized exactly which weapon he’d gone for. It wasn’t his sword in hand. Not that the long blade would be much use in these enclosed spaces. No, his hands had gone to his side-arm, the one he’d taken to carrying around in his harness.

No. It wasn’t a SOLDIER’s weapon.

“Habit.” Kunsel muttered, lowering the handgun and looking at it. “Years with a sword, and I still end up going back.”

The official reasoning for the standard use of bladed weapons was to fully utilize a SOLDIER’s enhanced strength. The truth was that SOLDIERs with guns unnerved people. Blades were short-range. It made people feel safer. Never mind that a SOLDIER’s enhanced speed would have them in range quick enough. Sometimes even before the bullet would.

“Hmm. What would make a Turk join SOLDIER?”

A Turk. Gods, how long had it been since he’d heard someone call him that?

 _I suppose it doesn’t matter now,_ Kunsel thought, _Lazard has made his move._

Kunsel sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his gloves. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep reading last night. “Surveillance. The Director of SOLDIER has long since been suspected of…unsavory dealings.”

Even now that it was over…he didn’t think he’d be able to go back. Mako enhancements were permanent. His eyes may not glow with the same intensity as Zack’s, but unless he took a leaf from Rude’s book with the sunglasses… No. Even then, he’d be too recognizable. He’d never be able to disappear properly. A good Turk must always be able to disappear.

“This…is far from Midgar.”

Kunsel shrugged, wondering where his summon had skedaddled off to. The library was really more of a reading alcove and there weren’t many places to hide. Especially if he was still in his man-form, which he’d spent much of the night in. Reading.

“SOLDIER mission.” Something about that nagged at him. The _mission_.

“Damn. What time is it?” Kunsel muttered, fumbling for his PHS. It didn’t have signal down here, but the clock still ticked away. He almost cursed upon seeing it. He’d lost an entire day. He’d been careful until now, not letting himself get sucked into this mystery. He couldn’t compromise his primary mission. Ensuring the safety of the town. But…the books…

He glanced around the room, fragments of what he’d read last night coming to him. Swirling around in his mind. JENOVA. Cetra. Project S. He hadn’t even read a fraction of the material in the library—he could spend _days_ in here.

Project S.

SOLDIER?

But no. Project S was what made SOLDIER _possible._ Before that…the treatments wouldn’t work. The body rejected them. And people died.

Human experiments. It made Kunsel feel sick. He was sure there had been one or two volunteers. For the sake of science. But most had probably been like the ex-Turk before him, taken forcibly, and nonconsensual.

He didn’t know the full story about Genesis and Angeal…but hadn’t something like that come out? Undisclosed human experiments? They’d been abnormally strong, even with First Class mako-treatments.

Project S.

Could it be? Sephiroth _was_ the strongest SOLDIER. Inhuman in many ways.

Kunsel began to gather up the fallen papers, almost forgetting the red-cloaked man’s presence. He had a way of fading to the background that left Kunsel baffled. He was better at it than Veld, and the older Turk had his age going for him. People underestimated him. The ex-Turk was wearing _red,_ which short of going into the neon palette, was one of the _most_ eye-catching colors there were.

“What do you plan to do with this…knowledge?” The ex-Turk asked, interrupting Kunsel’s cleaning. The SOLDIER paused for a moment. What _was_ he going to do with it? He hadn’t let himself think about that. He knew what Zack would do. Zack was refreshingly straightforward like that. Zack would storm ShinRa. Demand answers. Probably demand Hojo’s head on a platter.

Kunsel…probably wouldn’t do anything. Except keep a closer eye on the Director of the Science Department. And tell Veld. The leader deserved to know that the Science Department had a history of snatching Turk operatives. Veld would decide if anything more was to be done.

“I don’t know. I’m here to protect the town, not dig up ShinRa’s skeletons.” Kunsel shrugged, “Honestly I should have left it well enough alone.”

_You thirst for knowledge. It is an admirable ambition._

Kunsel’s head jerked up, trying to find his summon. He found it sprawled on the top of one of the shelves, once more taking the form of a lean black cat. The ex-Turk followed Kunsel’s gaze, an eyebrow quirking at the cat’s appearance.

“Yours?”

“Of sorts.” Kunsel saw the man focus on the materia in his bracer, and knew he’d drawn the correct conclusion. There would be no other reason for his active summon materia. Kunsel sighed, “Where have you been?”

_Around. You may wish to leave this place soon, however. I would rather not risk the chance of the fire spreading._

“Fire?”

x-x-x

Cloud regained consciousness to the choking smell of smoke and ash. He gasped. Coughed. The rough ground beneath him dug into his back. Why was he on the ground?

The sky was dark. Night. But the stars obscured by thick, dark clouds. Orange clouds. Why were they orange? No. Those weren’t clouds.

A red figure approaching the gate, one black wing dragging in the dirt road behind him.

Cloud startled, scrambling to his feet. He stared down at the town. Horrified.

Those weren’t clouds. They were _smoke._

Nibelhiem was _burning._

He didn’t allow himself to think. He ran. He ran down the path from the gate, which had been blasted open. His head hurt. Had he been caught in the blast? How long had he been out? The largest fire was centered on Baldur’s Inn and Tavern. Were the others alright? What about Hilda and Baldur? Huwitt and Green? They’d been in the tavern all day!

Cloud could see that red figure. He was standing on top of the water tower, arms and molting wing spread wide. He was saying something. Cloud couldn’t understand it through the pounding of his heart in his ears. He had a green orb in his hand, glowing, a spell charging. Materia. Fire materia? No, judging from the intensity of the flame it _had_ to be one of the higher level ones.

Shaking hands had Cloud unslinging his rifle. Kunsel. Where was Kunsel? He’d run into that man before. With Zack. He recognized him from the newspaper clippings. Genesis. SOLDIER elite. On the level of _Sephiroth_. Cloud had no chance. Only a SOLDIER could be a hero. Cloud was no SOLDIER. He was just a trooper, alone with shaking hands and a rifle he could barely use.

The shots were drowned out by the roar of the flames. The bullets went wide of the mark. It did catch Genesis’ attention. The SOLDIER turned, focusing wide, mako bright eyes on the small trooper. His smile was unnerving. Mad.

“Aaaah, if it isn’t my little messenger. I had hoped you would remain nice and safe where I left you. Do try and stay away from the flames, I will need you to relay a message when I am through with this wretched town.”

The charged magic shot from the crazed SOLDIER’s hand, Genesis spun on his perch, a spray of fireballs shooting out across the town’s square. Another smashed into the already totaled Inn and General store, causing the weakened frames to collapse under the force. Two more arced over the roofline of the small town, smashing into the mansion on the hill. Fire already licked from the windows. Cloud felt his heart in his throat. Kunsel. Kunsel was their only chance. Kunsel was in the mansion. But they hadn’t heard from him all day.

He saw Genesis turn in slow motion, another fireball forming in his palm. It was facing toward the east. To the so far untouched side of town. Cloud dropped the rifle. No.

Nononononono

He turned and ran.

The magic was faster.

It barreled into his mother’s house. The lights were still on. Flames roared, catching on wood and shingles alike.

He almost didn’t notice the next one barely miss Tifa’s home, smashing into the stone behind it.

_NO!_

He charged into the cracking doorframe. Smoke blinded him. Filled his lungs. Choked him. He couldn’t see. He stumbled over the bed. There was a lump there. Reaching hands found cloth. She was shaking. He pulled his mother—once she seemed so big, now she seemed so small—close. They needed to get out of here—

The ceiling cracked. Heat boiled around him. Cloud couldn’t even _think._

  1. He croaked, to anything. Anyone.



The already weakened beams gave way, and the ceiling collapsed.

x-x-x

Genesis watched the foolish trooper run to his doom. He _had_ tried to spare the boy. He tsked, really people were just inconsiderate. How was he supposed to attract Sephiroth’s attention if _everyone_ died?

Then again, there was that caped martial artist lurking about. Genesis was pretty sure he made it out. It might just take a little longer for news to reach Midgar.

The flames were _beautiful_ around him. They danced to a music he imagined he could barely hear, painting the previously dull, unassuming town in a wonderful masterpiece of reds and oranges. Surrounded by the fire, Genesis almost felt… _alive_ again. He didn’t feel the pain of his failing body. He did not feel the weight of the monstrous wing that grew from his shoulder. An oversized tumor. The only thing that mattered was the fire. Was the magic. His strength was failing him with his body. Only his magic remained.

And it danced at his command. It was eager to consume. Eager to burn. Eager to paint the night red.

_My soul, corrupted by vengeance_

_Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey_

_In my own salvation_

_And your eternal slumber_

Never before had he believed those words with every fiber of his being. These flames would be the heralds of his salvation. The beacon which would draw out the one who held the key, selfishly keeping it to himself.

He should have _been_ here by now. Why had a worthless Second been sent? After he’d slaughtered the last troop, Genesis had expected the Angeal’s puppy at least.

To be quite frank, it was insulting.

There was no way Sephiroth could ignore him _now._

Something was building. On the edge of his awareness. Genesis frowned, turning toward the mansion. Could the Second have decided to show his face at last? Genesis had expected the monsters to have finished the man off when he didn’t return last night. No. It wasn’t coming from the Mansion on the hill.

 _Behind_ him. The house the trooper had run into.

He had barely managed to face the building magic when it _exploded._

Something long and white shot from the small structure, circling the town in a wide arc. Ghostly translucent. Waves of water followed its path, raining down on the burning town. Damping the flames. Genesis focused on the creature. Snakelike, but green fur ran down alone its spine. Two whiskers trailed behind it, two small figures clutched in its front claws.

The _trooper._ And some blonde woman. Genesis snarled. Some sort of summon. It had to be. They were _ruining_ his masterpiece! Why would a lowly _trooper_ be allowed to have such a rare and priceless materia? It was impossible.

He charged another fireball, intent on shooting the beast out of the sky.

Another spell settled around him, interrupting his concentration. It was heavy. Slow. It made the ribbon tied around his arm burn. Some sort of status effect. He decided to ignore the summon for now—it seemed focused on putting out the fire. They were notoriously one-track spells. The Second Class had finally arrived. He was singed. Breathing heavily. He didn’t even look like he could hold that sword properly.

Perhaps it had been the _Second_ to summon the beast? He did have an active summon materia shining on his bangle.

Brown hair. Brown eyes. Equally forgettable face. Genesis didn’t recognize him. Then again, how could he be expected to recognize the plebeians who weren’t even _near_ his level? Most SOLDIERs below First Class were required to wear their helmets anyway.

“Ah, perfect! Now we have the leading role!” Genesis shot a sneer at the trembling second. Pathetic. He’d already shrugged off the failed attempt at sabotage. Ribbon—one of ShinRa’s _prized_ accessories—made him _immune_ to that sort of thing. “I had wondered if you’d gotten cold feet. How do you like my handiwork?”

Perhaps he didn’t need the trooper anymore, anyway. He’d done enough damage. All he would need to do now was rough up the second (not that it would take much) and then leave in a sufficiently dramatic fashion. The report would be sent to Sephiroth, and all Genesis would have to do was wait for him to come.

“ _Why_ did you do this?” The second thought to _talk_ to him. That was cute.

Genesis released the fireball he’d been charging. It came within three feet of the SOLDIER and bounced off. The once red-haired SOLDIER ducked, unconcerned as the reflected fireball soared over his head. It was unusual to find a SOLDIER who bothered with defensive spell. Magic wouldn’t work then. He didn’t want to waste time on a physical battle. Sure, he would be able to take a measly Second, but he needed to conserve his dwindling strength for the true coming battle.

“Why?” Genesis mused on the answer, focusing on the heavy weight of the wing on his shoulder. Alien muscles strained, and he forced it upright, locking the pain away.

“’ _Legends shall speak_

_Of sacrifice at world’s end’”_

“This town is my sacrifice. My call to action. No longer will Sephiroth sit idly. He will come to _me.”_

And then he was airborne, rising above the ruins of the town on a wing of darkness. He was leaving the town a smoking wreck behind him. He rose past the summon beast, which paid him no mind, still circling a small localized cloud of rain over the small village. He reached out to touch a side, only to have his hand pass through it. But the trooper and the woman were still in the claws.

He turned, looking down at the depression in the mountain. He felt the magic building with him. His limit break. He’d been saving it. Saving it for Sephiroth. Perhaps he should use it. Perhaps it would leave a message.

He drew on it, the angry red magic forming in his hands. Lines of red energy seemed to draw themselves on the ground beneath him, easily visible from his higher vantage point. _Apocalypse_. His ultimate magic. Limits were interesting things. They were the manifest of a person’s talent. The peak of their potential. Sephiroth had Octoslash, the epitome of swordplay, enhanced with magic. Angeal’s had been a flurry of punches and kicks, his skills and strength and speed breathtaking. No one could perfectly mimic a limit break. He’d seen Angeal’s puppy try. Fool. You didn’t _use_ another person’s limit. You broke your own.

 _Apocalypse_ was the epitome of Genesis’s power. His magic. His one true love. Beautiful. Devastating.

The world tilted. Pain broke his concentration. The magic fizzling in his hands. The impact sent him tumbling in the air, head over heel. Blood caused his coat to stick, could feel the liquid trickling down his shoulder. His wing strained. He couldn’t _fly._ Each beat sent fire racing through his shoulder. His back. It spread, like poison from an infected wound.

A shot.

A _gun_ shot.

Genesis felt like laughing. It came out as a cough instead.

A gunshot wouldn’t kill him. Even with degradation he was something _more_ than the average SOLDIER.

But it had been enough. Enough to throw him off. Enough to surprise him.

They may have saved that pathetic town, but Genesis had won.

News would travel.

Sephiroth would come. The Goddess waited for him.

She would be Genesis’ salvation.

x-x-x


	18. The Nibelhiem Incident

Kunsel stood there in the center of the wrecked town. Rain water trickled down his face, soaking his hair, his uniform, _everything._ It hadn’t been enough. The western side of town was in ruins. Blackened, scorched ruins. How long had it been burning before his summon had bothered to tell him of the situation? The ShinRa mansion still burned merrily, being outside the soothing localized raincloud.

He’d failed the town. He’d gotten absorbed in his own mystery. In the mansion. And he hadn’t _been_ here.

Not that he had the strength in magic or body to fight off Genesis. But he could see the accusation in the townspeople’s eyes as they slowly crept from their hiding places, staring at the husks where their homes had once been.

And his troopers. Where were they? There wasn’t a sign of blue uniform anywhere.

And the…creature. It appeared to have finished circling. It was descending now. Kunsel tensed, consciously reaching for his sword, missing the sidearm he’d given away.

 _A dragon._ His summon’s sarcastic voice echoed in his head, _At least show the proper respect._

It didn’t _look_ like a dragon. They were bulky, stouter and with a more triangular shaped head. Not to mention wings. This one looked more like that strange flying snake his summon had transformed into, only with four claws spread out along its sinuous body, and some sort of mane that ran along its spine, rather than fins.

Another summon, possibly? There _were_ dragon-types—Zack even had aBahamut summon—but Kunsel had seen the combat data for those fights. Bahamut more resembled the Nibel Dragons than…this.

It appeared more like Leviathan than anything, especially with the water affinity. Had Genesis picked up the materia while he’d been stationed in Wutai? Genesis was the only explanation. The beast had already been summoned when Kunsel had emerged from the burning mansion, and Leviathan was a well-known, yet uncatalogued summon, which meant ShinRa didn’t have it. But why would Genesis wish to douse his own fire?

_Fool. It is no enemy. It has no intention of attacking. **Look.**_

The dragon-thing touched down to the ground gently, fore claws uncurling to release two figures to the stone-covered ground. The rain was still falling, but it was a light drizzle now. Kunsel immediately recognized the trooper’s uniform on one of them— _Oh Gaea at least **one** of them was here. _Which trooper wasn’t hard enough to guess, considering the blonde woman lying unmoving beside the small body.

Kunsel dropped his sword, rushing to his fallen subordinate. Both of them were still breathing. Clothing was singed, and covered in soot and ash, the rainwater leaving unnerving trails as it unsuccessfully tried to clean exposed skin. Cloud’s helmet almost appeared to be _deformed_ as if it had begun to warp from the heat. Kunsel hastened in undoing the straps—if it had begun to melt in the magically enhanced flames, then Cloud might end up with some serious burns.

Nothing. He let out a sigh of relief, the helmet dropping from his hands to the ground. The dragon moved in the corner of his eye, leaning down. Coming closer. It had…almost a dog-like muzzle, Kunsel noted, almost as if he weren’t there, but watching from a distance. Those weird whiskers weren’t really whiskers. More like a Coeurl’s tendrils. They were waving independently of the breeze.

The beast touched his nose to Cloud’s cheek, and then closed its eyes.

It scattered like light through a veil of raindrops, the image dissolving into wisps of cloud that vanished in the wind.

There was a cracking sound, of glass splintering. Kunsel didn’t have time to look for it. He was aware of the people gathering around them. And of the one at his side, holding off the others with a cold red stare.

“They are not happy.” The ex-Turk noted quietly. Kunsel gathered Cloud into his arms, rising from his kneeling position on the ground. He didn’t look up, “Could you carry the woman?”

The ex-Turk didn’t reply, but did kneel down to lift her off the ground. Kunsel turned and began to walk, ignoring the angry muttering and hateful stares. Only half the town had gone up in flames completely. Cloud’s home had been the last victim before the rains began. He moved toward Mayor Lockhart’s building. He could see him standing with another group of people, his daughter, and Master Zangan. Kunsel hadn’t met the reclusive martial artist, but Tifa had pointed him out across from the square once.

“Y-you!” Mayor Lockhart was sputtering as soon as Kunsel got close enough, “Is _this_ the protection ShinRa promised us? Lip-service? Some token monster hunts? First you’ve been filling my daughter’s head with tales of dragons, and now the town is burned down by some lunatic? And that _beast._ Was that _supposed_ to take the blame? If it hadn’t been for the rainstorm—”

“Shut up.” Kunsel growled, elbowing past him and walking toward the house, ignoring the mayor’s protest that that was _his_ building. “Gather any wounded you can find. Search the rubble for survivors. That _lunatic_ is a wanted criminal. Even a SOLDIER has a hard time matching him.” There was a group of people clustered in front of the home, looking lost and confused as the mayor ordered them to bar the way.

“Look! Do you want to sit around throwing blame?” Kunsel let out an exasperated breath, “Or do you want to _help_ your people? I have plenty of materia, I _will_ heal the wounded. But they need to be gathered, I need to get them _out_ of the rain.”

The mayor looked like he wanted to argue further, but his daughter had pulled away from the group to get a closer look. She gasped, and Kunsel silently apologized to the trooper in his arms. Without the helmet on, he’d been instantly recognized.

“ _Cloud—!_ Mrs. Strife! EVERYONE MOVE! Let them through!” She glared at her father when he protested, and he seemed to think better of it. Instead he stomped off, bellowing at the other villagers to search the wreckage for survivors and useable salvage. Tifa immediately took Cloud from Kunsel, rushing him inside. The red-clad ex-Turk followed with the woman. He was right. It was Cloud’s mother.

Kunsel stood outside, the rain dripping down his face. He looked up to the roof, finding the green eyes of a small bird.

 _Such a lovely view it is._ The summon remarked casually, _Angry mobs always make the best entertainment._

“Loki.”

 _Don’t—_ The summon ruffled his wings irritably, and then stiffened, those green eyes staring down at him intently.

“Find him.” Kunsel wasn’t in the mood for games. “I know you can. Find Genesis.”

_Yes. **Master.**_

The bitterness in the other’s voice wasn’t lost on Kunsel. The bird took to the sky, and was gone.

x-x-x

“Hello! Zack Fair speaking!”

“Where are you?”

Zack paused, surprised by Sephiroth’s voice over his PHS. Sephiroth usually preferred correspondence through email. He looked around, at the mostly empty cargo hold he’d been using as a practice ground. They’d left the Northern Continent yesterday—apparently the Director had a meeting back in Midgar soon, and Zack hadn’t been doing much other than lounging around since he’d…encountered that armored crazy woman. So he’d jumped at the chance to head home early. His mission was technically over now. “I’d have to go ask the pilot, but we should be on our way back to Midgar. Why?” and then he had a thought, “What happened?”

“Go to the pilot—I assume it is a cargo transport?—and tell him you are appropriating the plane for urgent company business. I will put through the official orders. Genesis has shown himself.”

Zack sucked in a breath, “Where?” Obviously not Midgar, if Sephiroth wasn’t just telling him to hurry back.

“Nibelhiem.”

 _“_ I just received Kunsel’s report. The town is in dire straits, and many were killed, including two of his troopers. You will have the pilot detour to Rocket Town to pick up emergency rations and supplies, half the town is now homeless, and they will be in need of temporary accommodations. Pick up any carpenters you can from Rocket Town. Genesis was recognized by some in the town, so ShinRa will be forced to come clean about his desertion. The destruction is largely blamed on ShinRa because of this, so the higher ups OK’d the use of company resources to provide relief.”

There was a bitter edge to Sephiroth’s voice, one Zack quite agreed with. The _only_ reason ShinRa was doing this was to minimize the public backlash. At least those people would get some relief out of it, “Alright…but… _why_ Nibelhiem?”

It was such a…backwater mountain town.

“Kunsel said Genesis called it a message.”

“To who?”

“Me. I will be taking the next plane out there. It is about time we end this.”

Banora. And now Nibelhiem. The former had technically been the Turk’s decision. Nibelhiem’s destruction…had been the result of Genesis’s madness. Zack set his jaw as Sephiroth hung up. So many people. Dead. For a _message._ At least Banora had been a ghost town.

_Except Gillian._

He pushed that thought out of his head, striding across the cargo bay. The pilot wouldn’t be too hard to convince, especially once the electronic orders came in. The problem would likely come from a certain black-haired scientist.

And Zack was right. Hojo was livid upon hearing the news.

“You have no _right_ to appropriate this vessel. My experiments and the company’s business come first before petty humanitarian needs! I have a time sensitive project waiting for me in Midgar. I _insist_ we stop there first.”

“Sir, the orders are quite clear.” The poor pilot was sweating, hunched over his console as if to shield it from the professor’s shaking hands. As if Hojo would reach out and grab the controls himself, “Heading to Midgar first would add another week to the trip—we are to arrive in Rocket Town in two days should we continue our course.”

“And Sephiroth would not be happy, if we were to take an extra week.” Zack added gleefully. He was rather enjoying seeing the annoying man so flustered. Hojo hadn’t stopped hounding him about the fight with the crazy chick. Apparently the higher than expected concentration of unrefined mako located in that cave had fried all the monitoring equipment. It didn’t help that the scientist would eye Zack’s materia hungrily if he so much as took off his bangle. He’d hoped to keep Silver –no, not Silver—and Ammy from the attention of the Science Department.

“Sephiroth?” The older man’s head snapped around at the name, his eyes narrowing behind reflective glasses, “What does Sephiroth have to do with this?”

“He’s meeting us.”

“In Rocket Town?” The Director scoffed, “I was under the assumption this was to be a _supply_ run. Nothing so menial should attract the Silver Elite’s attention.”

Zack quirked an eyebrow at the title. Only Sephiroth’s _fanclub_ called him that, “Nah, the supplies are just an on-the-way thing. We found Genesis.”

“Of course.” Hojo sniffed in dismissal, “Hollander’s trash _does_ need to be cleaned up, but I cannot believe such a matter is important enough to jeopardize important projects. Where has the rat gone to ground this time?”

“Nibelhiem.”

And then…something changed. A new light began to grow in the scientist’s eyes. A considering smile bloomed across his face, one that left Zack feeling unnerved more than satisfied.

“Sephiroth in _Nibelhiem.”_ Hojo muttered, and then laughed. “Perhaps I shall thank Hollander, should I see the worm again. _Sephiroth_ in _Nibelhiem.”_

He left without another word, humming a tune under his breath. Zack shared a concerned look with the pilot. The other man shrugged, “At least we won’t have any more complaints?”

It was true, but it didn’t comfort Zack. The _glee_ in the professor’s voice set off too many alarms for that to happen.

x-x-x

 _He is holed up in the reactor._ As much as he hated it, Loki did as he was told. He always did when Kunsel got fed up with the summon’s games. The bird was once again a cat—the feline being the summon’s most favored form indoors. It was sitting on a desk, rolling a dimly glowing red materia between his paws. The one Kunsel had pulled out of the safe at the mansion. _There is another man with him. Short and round, with garish taste in clothing. There appear to be others, but they seemed to be those clones you spoke of. Jerky, puppet-like movements and obvious mutations…_

“Hollander.” Kunsel sighed, rubbing his temples. He missed his helmet, but in his haste he’d left it in the basement all those hours ago. “I don’t think he will attack the town again. He managed to get his point across last time.”

Kunsel leaned back into his chair, stolen from the Lockhart’s sitting room and dragged into this far corner to give him just a few moments of peace. He’d tended all the wounded he could, long into the night. It was closer to dawn by now. Tifa was at Cloud’s side, she hardly went anywhere else when she wasn’t out lifting fallen debris to help the searchers.

He didn’t know where the ex-Turk had gone. He’d hovered around the wounded for a while, before leaving the building some time ago. Kunsel never did get his name. That left Kunsel alone. The villagers were treating him as if _he’d_ burned the town down.

 _Collective responsibility._ He reasoned. As far as the world knew, Genesis had merely vanished from the headlines. They didn’t know of his desertion. His madness. His betrayal. Sephiroth had mentioned the Company PR was writing up a press release, but that would do no good out here. Those who followed the news had recognized the red-coated man. Genesis Rhapsodos. ShinRa SOLDIER First Class.

And Kunsel had been the one to fail.

The silence was heavy. Dead except for the rain beating on the glass of the window and the noise of smooth not quite glass, yet not quite crystal rolling against wood. He had expected…some sort of response by now. No snarky quips. No running commentary. Just those angry green eyes boring into him from across the room—glinting eerily in the dark. The summon hadn’t spoken much since returning, only when Kunsel had specifically asked for the scouting report. Kunsel sighed, rubbing his forehead to try and stave off the headache from taking too many elixirs—there were _many_ wounded. And Cloud—Kunsel didn’t know what to do with Cloud.

“Look. I’m _sorry.”_

 ** _Sorry?_ ** The cat hissed, stopping the rolling materia with a single paw, _I told you what I am. I am a **god**_ **.** _I may have made a contract with your Goddess, but I do not take kindly to **commands** from mortals._

Using his name was one of a few ways to enforce that contract, something Kunsel had agreed not to abuse early in their relationship. So far he’d been mostly good about sticking to the agreement. Six years, and this would be the second time. “Would you have done it if I had asked nicely?”

 _Perhaps._ Those green eyes gleamed, P _erhaps not._

Kunsel slipped his bracer off his arm, studying the disguised summon materia. He’d replaced the faux materia cover after the incident earlier. Walking around with a personal flashlight was both annoying and conspicuous. He’d had enough problems with the townsfolk as it was.

“I can always hide it.” Kunsel said quietly, “Take the materia and hide it where no one can find it. You wouldn’t have to follow another _mortal_ ’s command.”

_What would be the **point** of signing that blasted contract, then? _

“You tell me.”

The cat paused, one paw resting on the red orb in preparation to roll it again. Kunsel didn’t expect much out of him—he didn’t like talking about the contract—but the opportunity was worth a shot. “You said it yourself—you _hate_ commands. A summon is bound to the orders of their summoner. Most would not be so accommodating as I have.”

_…Eidolons._

“Excuse me?”

 _They are called Eidolons. Not **summons.**_ The cat sniffed, tail flicking in agitation. The summon—Eidolon—straightened his back, drawing the red orb toward black fur, staring down into the glimmering red center. _I offered my services in exchange for a boon. And knowledge. For a world filled with mortals, yours is an interesting world. Mortals with the strength of the Aesir…_

Apparently that was more than enough, and the cat went back to playing with the materia. He wouldn’t answer any more questions. And Kunself resigned himself to mulling over the nuggets of information he’d been given. At least until he was knocked out of his thoughts by the jarring sound of an _actual_ voice.

“Is there trouble brewing?”

Suddenly, Kunsel was aware they weren’t alone. His head snapped up, and he met the red-eyed gaze of the Ex-Turk standing near the doorway, “When did you get here?”

 _He’s been here for some time._ Loki responded lazily, as if merely remarking on the wind blowing or the sun shining.

“Long enough.” The man was quiet. He crossed the room, seating himself on a stool he pulled from somewhere beneath his tattered cloak. He quickly withdrew a familiar weapon from a holster strapped to his leg, laying it across his lap. It was the fire-arm Kunsel had found in the safe. A Quicksilver model. Kunsel had given it to the ex-Turk when they’d been leaving the mansion.

Kunsel was glad he had. He could have never made the shot. He’d felt the magic in those humming lines. He didn’t need Loki’s gleeful confirmation that it would have disintegrated the remainder of the town with ease. The ex-Turk’s shot had interrupted it.

“This…weapon. You found it in the mansion?”

“In a safe, along with the key to your…room. I assume it is yours?”

The ex-Turk nodded. “Was there…anything else? Any materia?”

Kunsel waved a hand in Loki’s direction, “One summon materia, currently being used as a cat-toy.”

The cat merely purred, rolling the materia nearer and curling up around it. Possessive.

Kunsel thought he saw a smile tugging at the other man’s lips. It was hard to tell since the high collar and the tangled hair hid much of his face. “Hojo probably disposed of the others.”

A summon was rare enough to keep, of course. Why it had ended up rotting for decades in a _safe_ was beyond Kunsel’s imagination. Given what he knew of that scientist, he was oddly forgetful when something _didn’t_ involve one of his projects. “Which one is it?”

He was curious. It was hard to tell without using them. The Materia Department had some method of testing them, but they only recognized previously identified summons. Besides, it wasn’t like Kunsel was going to have access to that sort of machinery for a while.

“Odin. The Dark Warrior.”

The cat hissed, sitting up ramrod straight. Kunsel couldn’t help the cocked eyebrow at the unusual reaction. Loki’s tail was lashing furiously against the wooden desk. He was staring unblinking at the orb once again.

“I thought ShinRa already had the Odin materia stocked.” Kunsel mused aloud, studying the cat’s reaction, “Zack found it on one of his missions. That guy has uncanny luck when it comes to finding summon materia.”

The ex-Turk shrugged, “Summon materia divide when mastered, just as others do. They just take much longer.” He leaned forward, those red eyes focused on the agitated cat, “What is it that troubles you, little one?”

 _Odin is my father’s name._ The eidolon hissed. Of course, only Kunsel could hear it. He turned around abruptly, his tail hitting the shiny orb and sending it rolling again. It shot off the desk, falling to the floor with a loud thud. _We are **not** on good terms._

It rolled to a stop, bumping up against Kunsel’s boot. He reached down and picked it up, shrugging as he offered it to the ex-Turk. “It’s something about the name. He doesn’t like it.”

“Hmm.” He took the orb, slotting it into one of the slots on the weapon. “Odd, to learn of a summon communicating with its summoner in that manner.”

“It’s something to do with a…contract. Won’t say much more.” And Kunsel never really asked. Only tonight had he ever been answered. Loki mentioned the contract fairly often in passing, but if he ever got too curious…well the shapeshifter shut up right quick. The eidolon was ignoring them both right now, he’d jumped from the desk to the window frame, staring out into the rainy darkness.

Silence fell over the room, only the faint patter of drops on glass broke it. There were far too many people out there right now, who had lost their homes. He thought he could see the fires through the blur of rain; people huddled uncertainly in the husks of buildings. Very few had fully collapsed, even if they were unstable, and the continuing rain had driven people to the only available shelter…but Kunsel still worried. What if one of the straining frames collapsed over night? On those taking shelter from the rain?

“…The world weeps. I never thought I would see rain again.”

The murmur broke the silence.

“You were dead set on staying down there when I woke you up. What changed?”

The red-eyed man met his gaze briefly, before returning to the window, “If I had done nothing, my guilt would be an even heavier burden. I may have deserved to die in that fire, but those people did not.”

The fire. The ShinRa mansion had remained burning, long into the night. Even after the summoned storm had passed. It had only been with the onset of the current, natural weather, that the flames had finally died.

“Vincent.”

The sudden word confused the SOLDIER, “What?”

“You asked my name earlier.” The ex-Turk spoke again, “I was…Vincent Valentine.”

Vincent Valentine.

_Vincent Valentine._

He _knew_ that name.

_“…my partner…”_

An old photograph. He could see it now. Veld. His wife. Kalm. It was one of the few momentos the Leader kept.

And standing off to the side, a reserved young man in a black suit. Short black hair. _Red eyes._

x-x-x


	19. Relief Efforts

Zack stood in the cargo bay, shading his eyes as he looked through the open door and into the town. Or what had once _been_ a town. It seemed rather lopsided now. The only usable buildings seemed to line the eastern side of the valley, and even some of them would require a good amount of refurbishing before they looked respectable again. Small, makeshift shelters had been erected out of wood and cloth in the center of town, a refugee camp, but the western side was rubble.

The cargo plane had been far too large to land inside the fenced in perimeter, so the pilot had brought her down outside. He could hear the representative from Rocket Town shouting at everyone to prepare for unloading. It would have made Zack snicker if he hadn’t been so focused on the destruction—that man acted as if _he_ were the captain of the ship. He had terrorized the poor pilot the entire flight over the mountain, with swearing, tips, and a grunted good job once they’d cleared the turbulent airspace.

“Get moving you louts!” He heard the order barked as soon as the ramp was lowered, and the men from Rocket Town sprang into action, grabbing bundles of tools and food and building materials and began maneuvering it down the ramp, toward the ragged crowd clustered nervously near the gate of the town.

“You! SOLDIER!” The shout caught Zack’s attention. “Make yourself useful. If you can carry that huge ass sword everywhere you can lift some fucking boxes. We need to get this fucking plane empty before we can even begin to fix that mess out there.”

Zack couldn’t help it, he laughed. That man, Cid Highwind, was something else. He shook his head, forcing the image of the town from his mind and turning toward the hold. Highwind was apparently a rather important person in Rocket Town. Chief Engineer, pilot, inventor, unofficial mayor, and soon to be _astronaut_. He had refused to let ShinRa appropriate his supplies and men at first, but the moment he’d heard about Nibelhiem’s plight he’d insisted that _he_ be the one to lead them.

_“I’ve got half a fucking **year** before the launch. I think I can afford the trip.”_

Zack had seen the Rocket, almost completed, towering above the town. And Cid was going to _pilot_ the damn thing.

Something else indeed.

He was currently glaring at Zack, arms crossed across his broad chest, unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth.

“Aye ‘ Aye Cap’n!” Zack responded with a cheerful salute. The man grunted and gestured to a pile of crates—clothing and other textiles. Winter would be coming soon enough—the air was already chill with the bitter end of fall. This town was in the _mountains._ These people needed shelter and clothing before anything else.

He spent a good hour hauling equipment along with a group of five other men—the only nonessential personnel Rocket Town could spare. A couple of the townsfolk had offered to help, but no more than ten gathered off to the side, looking torn between bewilderment and suspicion. Hadn’t Kunsel told them what was going on? Where were the rest of the townsfolk? A town this size should have had at _least_ two hundred people. There weren’t nearly enough tents in the little camp for that.

“Oi! Stop just standing around like a bunch of ninnies! Where’s the mayor? Who’s in charge here?” Cid was now shouting at the pale faces of the onlookers. Zack left him to it as a brown-haired man stepped forward, and the SOLDIER grabbed a random pedestrian, “Hey, do you know where Kunsel is?” At her blank look he tried to give her a reassuring smile, “He’s another SOLDIER. Like me. But he wears purple.”

“Oh…Him.” Her face darkened dangerously, “I don’t care. He was the one who was supposed to _protect_ us. I still say he should have been helping with the clean-up. What’s the use of super-strength if you stay cooped up inside all day—”

Zack excused himself quickly before she could get much farther. The next few people held similar opinions, which left Zack utterly baffled. Kunsel was one of the _best_ guys he’d ever met. Of course he wouldn’t stand a chance against Genesis—Genesis wasn’t _human._ As for not helping out after…Kunsel would have a reason. He always did. He just needed to find his friend, especially given the weird email he’d received as the plane was landing.

“—cuse me. Are you Zack?”

A female voice drew his attention this time. A brunette young lady was addressing him. He blinked. His first thought: she was _pretty._ “Yes?”

His second thought was that she moved like a fighter. Confident. Her clothing was plain, but easy to move in. The gloves on her hands—slightly deformed along the knuckles, an indication of a concealed metal reinforcement--and the way she carried herself reminded him of _Angeal_ of all things. Hand to hand fighter. And a good one, if that confidence wasn’t merely arrogance.

“Oh good.” She let out a relieved sigh, smiling at him. A smile from a girl like that would normally send his heart fluttering—girlfriend or no—but it was strained. Worried. “My name is Tifa. Kunsel sent me to get you. He’s with Cloud right now.”

The way her voice hitched at the name immediately sobered Zack’s mood. Kunsel’s emails told him that Cloud was alive. The only trooper to survive the fire. But Zack had emailed his little spikey-haired buddy, and had heard nothing. Granted it had only been three days…if things were as bad as they seemed, Cloud was probably too busy to check. Or his phone had been an unfortunate casualty of the fire. They’d stayed at the Inn right?

“Great.” Zack forced himself to return her smile, scratching absently at his scar, “I was just looking for them, but…”

“They aren’t very happy with him.” Tifa glanced uncomfortably back toward the crowd, who seemed to be finally heeding Cid’s orders. The blonde pilot was standing on a large crate and directing people about, sending some of the stronger men out with axes for wood, and had the others unpacking the portable shelters (expedition grade stuff there. They’d been quite cozy even on the _Northern Continent.)_ He’d even put some of the women unpacking and distributing the clothing they had—a lot of people appeared to be either borrowing clothes, or still wore the charred clothing they’d escaped with. Zack couldn’t hear them very well now—they were halfway across the town center by now, almost passed the empty refugee camp.

“They only see the destruction, and not what he _has_ done. Master Zangan tried fighting, and _he_ was nearly killed. Kunsel and his…friend…managed to drive him off, and then tried to…put everything back together. We would have lost most of the burn victims that night if it weren’t for him.”

Of course. Kunsel _would_ have been tending the wounded. Zack didn’t know much about _this_ specific small town, but he and Cloud had initially bonded over their shared country-bumpkin origins. Zack knew Gongaga. Most civilians couldn’t use materia. In the larger cities—Cosmo Canyon, Junon, Midgar and the like—they had the option of going to clinics or the hospital. Trained physicians with access to both medicines AND materia. Small towns…not so much. They usually had a person or two with basic first aid knowledge, and left healing to the natural methods.

So Kunsel’s materia use would be sorely needed. Especially if the normal healer was injured or killed in the blaze.

Kunsel should have never had to face Genesis. These people should have never died. Zack clenched his fists. Coiled power itched at him. Muscles strained. He forced himself to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were mumbled, but Tifa slowed her walk. She heard them.

“For what?”

Zack didn’t look at her. He kept moving, toward the house. Toward Kunsel and Cloud. Toward the conclusion.

He _was_ sorry. For not being here. He felt like Genesis was _his_ responsibility. Damn the President. Zack _would_ have been here if it weren’t for that blasted recall. Paranoid bastard. He was _sure_ the president had been relieved to hear that Nibelhiem had burned.

The President would have been comforted that Genesis was on a different continent. Secure in that Genesis’s explicitly stated target was _Sephiroth_ , and not the one who was ultimately responsible for everything. The one who paid the scientists. The one who reaped the benefits of Hojo and Hollander’s experiments in the form of his own private army. It was almost enough to make Zack turn his back and leave it all behind. He had joined SOLDIER to _help_ people. To be a _hero._ Not to be ordered around at the Science Department’s whims. Not to protect ShinRa’s _interests_ instead of the people dying half the world away.

Not to be forced to kill _Angeal_.

And Zack…wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

Zack remembered the last email he’d gotten from his superior. As Sephiroth was boarding his own transport to the Western Continent.

_Depending on how this goes…I may leave ShinRa._

The thought left a hollow, twisted feeling writhing in his chest. He couldn’t blame Sephiroth. Whatever Genesis was now, he’d once been Sephiroth’s friend. Now…thanks to Zack…Genesis was all Sephiroth had left. And ShinRa wanted him _dead._

 _“_ Are you…okay?”

Tifa was still waiting for a reply. Zack closed his eyes and forced himself to smile, “It’s nothing! We’d hoped to be here yesterday, but weather conditions were pretty bad. The Captain over there wouldn’t let us fly until they cleared up…”

Zack just let the chatter flow, and Tifa seemed to forget about his apology and moment of solemnity. She just let him talk with a bemused expression, pushing open the door to the house and leading him up the stairs. Zack tried not to think about the bandaged people he could see through nearly every door. Lying on couches. The floor. So many injured. How many had died? The small crowd outside made sense now. What had Genesis done, to leave so many dead? Hunted them down as they fled burning buildings? _Why?_

A message, Sephiroth had said. But why _this_ kind of message? Why not just write a note?

 _Dramatics._ A note would not have the same effect. Genesis’s love of theatrics had nearly beaten the verses of Loveless into Zack’s head, each time they met.

Only this time, the price was people’s lives, rather than his attention span.

“Kunsel! I found him!” Tifa called as she knocked lightly on a door frame as a warning, and then pushed it open. She let Zack go first. It was a large room, surprisingly larger than most of the others he had seen. The floor in here was clear, and Zack could see a desk set into the far corner. He moved to step toward it, and turned. Apparently the door was set into the corner, and the room wrapped around to form a smallish alcove with a piano and a bed. The first thing Zack noticed was the purple uniform of his friend, and the distinct lack of helmet. Even his hair seemed neat, which was unusual given his perpetual hat hair.

“What’s this? Did you go and lose your bucket, Kunsel?” Zack began the ritual teasing, but then froze. There was someone lying on the bed. Blonde spikes protruded from the nest of blankets. He would recognize that gravity defying hair anywhere.

“Cloud!”

Cloud looked so…small there. He didn’t even stir at the sound of his own name. Zack turned quickly to Kunsel, “You didn’t say he was injured!”

“He isn’t. That’s the problem.” The Second sighed, rolling a green materia between his gloved fingers. He turned tired eyes on Zack, “I can’t find _anything_ to explain this. It almost looks like mako poisoning—and Scan seems to be picking up some from him—but from what I can piece together, he ran into a burning building, not a reactor.”

Tifa had joined them by this point, pulling the chair at the desk over to the foot of the bed. Kunsel was sitting on the piano stool. Zack just stared mutely at the boy. It just hadn’t occurred to him that Cloud…

“…burning building?”

“His mother was still inside.” Tifa murmured, “His house was the last to go up in flames before the dragon came.”

“…dragon?”

Zack realized he was just parroting the words back like a moron. He shook his head, closing his eyes and taking deep, calming breaths. He’d seen people injured before. He’d _killed_ his own mentor. _Why_ was this so different? Cloud was still alive—Zack could see that in the rise and fall of the blankets. Breathing. Breathing was good. Focus on that.

“Your little cadet probably saved the town with that stunt.” Kunsel muttered. He waved toward the desk on the far side of the room, “Oi, you are ShinRa’s expert on Summon Materia by now, right?” Kunsel ignored Zack’s sputtered ‘no?’ What was with the rest of the SOLDIERs and thinking _that?_ “Go check out the desk.”

It took some effort but Zack managed to tear himself away from the bed, crossing the few steps to the far wall. There _was_ something on the desk. Red glittered against the white of a writing pad. It was an…amulet of sorts, about the size of his palm. Smaller. The cord backing was charred in places, but it miraculously held together. Set in the center…

A thin, rough slice of red stone. Cracked and splintered down the middle.

 _Materia_ he immediately thought. But not a proper one. But…proper materia didn’t seem to matter. Not given his runty summon. Misshapen. Small. The shape didn’t seem to matter if it held power. Life.

“It doesn’t glow.”

Not at all. Not even the faint almost-there glimmer of a normal materia. There was nothing separating it from colored glass. Except that glass could never _quite_ mimic the opaque, yet still translucent consistency of materia.

“Not anymore.” Kunsel corrected, “Mrs. Strife—she’s caring for some of the other patients right now—said that it used to glow. She gave it to Cloud before all this happened, and he was wearing it under his uniform that night. I wasn’t here for this part but—”

“I saw it.” Tifa interrupted, looking up from the bed, “I was watching from the window. Father wouldn’t let me outside. The trooper—Cloud—ran into the house. A _dragon_ burst out of it. It summoned the storm. The rain quenched the flames.”

“It also carried Cloud and his mother to safety.” Kunsel nodded, “When we found the materia, it was like that. Broken. Cracked. Dead. And Cloud…he hasn’t woken up since.”

“Kunsel—I _know_ ShinRa has done trials on the consequences of breaking materia—”

“I thought about that. The energy attempts to escape from the weakened spot and the entire thing just shatters in an explosion of power. Sockets are created to absorb that sort of backlash, but Cloud didn’t have one. He wouldn’t be alive in that case, not with the thing around his neck.”

“That’s _magic_ materia. I doubt they could justify breaking _summon_ materia. It feels different when you look at the magic itself.” Zack shook his head, “It isn’t as…violent. Think about it. The materia cracked. The energy was going to want to escape somewhere. Cloud was the nearest to the materia.”

“…and materia is _crystalized mako.”_

_Mako poisoning._

The elephant in the room that SOLDIERs did not like to talk about.

ShinRa _had_ tried to develop drugs to counteract mako poisoning, but nothing really worked. The first thing prospective SOLDIERs were tested on was how they reacted to mako—to those who were sensitive, mako poisoning was a real danger. The first injections were always the hardest in that respect. Zack remembered three others in his graduating squad who ended up comatose for two or three days following their first enhancement. General protocol was to keep the person comfortable. Safe. Clean. They had to find their way back on their own. Some never did.

“…Tifa…” It seemed like forever, but in the end Kunsel was the one to speak, “Could you keep an eye on Cloud for a while?”

Her jaw tightened, but then her eyes drifted back to Cloud’s still face. She stood up and took Kunsel’s seat as he moved, pulling the piano stool closer, her knees brushed the bedside. She reached out and tentatively took Cloud’s hand where it lay limp on the comforter.

x-x-x

Someone was talking to him. Cloud knew someone was talking to him. It was someone else. Out there. They were pulling him back. Away from the river. Away from _peace._

_He could feel the fire licking at his skin. Smoke filled his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. The ceiling was falling. Everything was burning. Falling. Crashing._

He flinched away from the memory, reaching for the comfortable green haze. It had saved him from the fire. He didn’t want to go back.

“There isn’t fire. Not anymore.”

That voice was here. Not there. It was the only thing concrete in this world of green mist and whispers Cloud could barely hear.

“I put it out, remember?”

No. No, Cloud didn’t remember. He didn’t remember the torrent of water. He didn’t remember the rush of wind. He didn’t remember _anything._ Especially not the fire.

“Look at me.”

Cloud flinched as he felt something gently touch his shoulder. A hand. A slim hand. A child’s hand.

He didn’t open his eyes, just kept himself curled in a ball, knees pulled to his chest. But he didn’t need to open them. Not here. The other wasn’t outside.

He could see the boy kneeling beside him. Strange clothes, white with long square sleeves. He stood out against the mists. He was the only thing that did.

“You can’t stay here, Cloud.”

Yes. Yes he could. Here there was no fire. Here there was no failure. He didn’t see his home go up in flames before his very eyes. He didn’t hear his mother crying. Cloud wasn’t a SOLDIER. He wasn’t a Hero. He _couldn’t_ fulfill his promise. He couldn’t sweep in and rescue Tifa. The fire would get her next.

 _“At least Chihiro listened to me…”_ The mutter was faint. Cloud curled in on himself tighter, drifting in the green. The outside was fading. He couldn’t hear it anymore. The whispers though. They grew _louder._ He couldn’t understand them.

“Not again! Stay—”

Even that voice was lost, and Cloud was swept away again, back to the peaceful bliss of the stream.


	20. Trust

Zack followed as Kunsel led him out of the room. Out of the house. He didn’t like leaving Cloud like that. He itched to stay at the trooper’s side. Damn it, HE’D been the one to recommend Spike for this mission. He’d been feeling guilty enough knowing Kunsel’d had to deal with Genesis—now learning that Cloud was incapacitated—he wanted to do something. Even as he knew there was nothing to be done. Kunsel had done what he could—made him comfortable, and kept him monitored. As much as Zack would like to hover by the kid’s bedside…Tifa seemed quite happy to take on that responsibility (something he had to remind himself to tease Cloud about _when_ he woke up) and they still had other issues to deal with.

Namely the one who caused the problem in the first place.

Kunsel led Zack past the bustling town center, where the expedition shelters were quickly replacing the tiny refugee tents. They were sturdier, and kept out water and cold better, even if they were an obnoxious orange color. For better visibility in blizzard conditions, Zack guessed. They were mostly used on expeditions to the Northern Continent. These ones were old, and lacked the mini heaters and other minor conveniences—they had been from before they built permanent structures around the ShinRa No. 26 project—he’d been there as the Captain ordered them out of storage.

“Did you get my message?”

Zack blinked at Kunsel. Message? Oh. Right. “Yeah—He’s not happy about it. The moment we saw the town from the window he wanted to check out the mansion. It’s apparently ShinRa property.”

Zack had to threaten to lock the Director in his cabin just to keep him on the plane, as per Kunsel’s request. He still wasn’t sure the man hadn’t just waited for him to leave before slipping out. Hojo _had_ agreed to wait until they dealt with the…riffraff as he called them, turning his nose up at the sight of the people gathering around the plane.

“It is.” They were standing in front of the mansion’s gates now. The place seemed eerie. A burned out husk. Only the stonework remained, and even that had been warped by the magical heat. It had been hit by something else as well, stones knocked loose, and the top half seemed to have collapsed from the weakness and the stress. Kunsel checked the lock on the gate—a new one from the looks of it. “It is—or was a ShinRa Laboratory. I doubt even the subterranean level made it out unscathed. The scaffolding was wood, and the moss growing down there is quite flammable.” Kunsel nodded toward an opening high up in the stone, “A fireball slammed into the lift shaft shortly after I escaped. If we’d been much slower…”

He shook his head.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to let the Director see for himself?” Zack wondered aloud. It wouldn’t even take ten minutes to see that the place was well-nigh unsalvageable for anything more than _charcoal_. “He’d probably keep _himself_ cooped up on the ship quite willingly after that. He didn’t want us to come here in the first place.”

“Just tell him there’s a danger to his life, if it comes to that.” Zack flinched at the words. Kunsel smiled a tired smile. “Should he be seen, I cannot guarantee his safety. So keep him on the ship. Don’t even say his name if you don’t have to.”

That…almost sounded like a threat. Zack stared at his friend’s back. Kunsel had started walking again, toward the edge of town.

No. It couldn’t be. Kunsel wasn’t like that. _Why_ would he suspect such a thing? “A secret laboratory, AND an assassination plot? You really are stepping up your game. Next thing we know, we’ll have the Turks trying to induct you into their ranks.”

Kunsel’s back was to Zack, but he did sigh, “I am not joking, Zack.”

“I thought Genesis was going after Sephiroth though?” He didn’t _think_ the deserter had a grudge against the Director, “Or is it AVALANCHE or something?

“Neither. I’ve got my eye on the situation, but I’d rather not take chances. And I would appreciate if you keep it quiet for now. Just keep the director on the plane.”

“I’ll see what I can do with him.” Kunsel had to have a reason. Sephiroth was going to be here soon enough in person, maybe Kunsel was waiting for him? “Where are we going anyway?”

“I’ve got someone keeping an eye on the reactor.” Kunsel said at length, shading his eyes against the sun and grumbling about the loss of his helmet—“You don’t happen to have a spare do you?” Zack didn’t—“I wanted to introduce you to him so there wouldn’t be any surprises if he reports in.”

_“Kunsel and his…friend…managed to drive him off”_

Tifa _had_ mentioned someone else. Zack hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Zack laced his hands behind his head as they walked, uneasily taking in the dreary landscape. When he’d talked to Cloud about Nibelhiem, he had envisioned the picturesque mountain ranges he’d seen in books and photos. Snowcapped and cone-shaped. Not these…twisted spires of rock.

Monsters scurried out of their path, some sort of bugs that nearly came up to Zack’s waist. Kunsel had to help a few along, tossing out the occasional fire spell when the braver ones ventured forward. Zack whistled in appreciation. “Are they weak to fire or something? Most monsters don’t run away like that.”

“Most monsters aren’t hunted _daily_ for weeks.” Kunsel responded with a smirk, “They won’t come _near_ the gate if we have torches lit, and after the first few days I started letting the monsters go if they backed away from the fire. Those who survived down here survived because they were smart.”

“Nice.” Zack hummed approvingly. He would have never thought of that. “Are we going all the way to the reactor?”

It was deep in the mountains, if Zack remembered right. He’d gotten a glimpse of it as they’d made the flight across—a spire of metal amongst stone needles. He’d hung out in the bridge most of the time—Cid was rather hilarious, and as a pilot himself, he’d refused to leave well enough alone.

“Nah. I sent a message when I heard the plane land. He’ll meet us at the edge of Dragon Territory.”

It turned out to be a long rickety bridge, spanning a _really_ deep chasm. Zack couldn’t see any reason why one side of the bridge was dubbed Dragon Territory, and why one wasn’t. They looked exactly the same. Grey twisted rock, straggling plants clinging to the cracks in stone. The trail they’d been following wasn’t even much of a road—it was just a depression in the stone, worn by years upon years of feat.

Something red moved in Zack’s peripheral vision, dropping from the stone cliffs that still rose ever higher from either side of the small path. He whirled to face the threat, a hissed, “Clone?” and his hand went for his sword automatically. Kunsel stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“ _That_ is why I wanted to introduce you. You have a bad history with the color red; and he a fondness for mysterious entrances.”

Holding his quivering instincts in check, Zack forced himself to look beyond his split second conclusion and see the man crouched before him. A deep red cloak fluttered in the breeze, tangled, messy black hair—without so much as a strand of red or grey, which was evidence in the not-Genesis camp—and the gleam of golden armor bit into the stone. Red eyes peered up at him from beneath jagged lengths of hair that looked like they’d been cut with a knife rather than seen a comb. That look set Zack on edge. Sharp. Suspicious.

Even knowing it wasn’t Genesis, Zack itched for his weapon under that unnerving—wait, was that a _mako_ gleam? This guy definitely wasn’t a SOLDIER. His instincts screamed that this man was _dangerous._

“Zack, this is Vincent.” Kunsel began slowly, his brown eyes traveling from one to the other, his grip tightened on Zack’s arm, “He was the one to injure Genesis a few days ago. Vincent, this is the First Class I was telling you about.”

“You have…dealt with our target before?”

Target. The term felt so… _impersonal._

Zack refused to let his unease show, and instead slapped on a confident grin, “Yeah. I’ve generally been the one handling the clone issues. Never fought Genesis myself but…”

“Aside from the General, Zack is the strongest we have.” Kunsel added, and Zack felt it was really strange to be able to _see_ his friend’s face like this. The furtive little movements as he looked between Zack and Vincent uncomfortably, his carefully blanked expression. Zack _knew_ Kunsel felt exposed without his helmet, but he didn’t have to turn into Tseng because of it! “The General is due to arrive tomorrow—we _need_ to be sure Genesis doesn’t pull a fast one before we can finish this.”

“He won’t.” Vincent’s voice was certainty, “It is easy enough to pick him out of the clones. He could not escape by foot.”

“Genesis can fly—” Zack jumped in, interrupting, “You can’t just hope to pen him in like that.”

“The unusable wing would make that means of escape rather…difficult.” The dark-haired man gave Zack a dismissive glance, “I shot to cripple.”

The implied ‘ _I don’t miss.’_ was loud enough for even _Zack_ to hear.

Kunsel nodded, “Good.” And then stopped, listening as a sharp caw rang through the air, drawing the attention of everyone but Zack. The SOLDIER looked between the two, whose gaze suddenly went skyward. He felt like he was _missing_ something. He searched the sky, but there was nothing beyond a couple birds flitting around. “Do you think you will be able to keep up the watch alone? Or do you want to switch?”

“I am not alone.” Zack _thought_ Vincent was smiling, but the lower half of his face was hidden by the high collar of his cloak. Geez, was everything about this guy an attempt to be mysterious? The cloak. The collar. Even his _hair_ seemed more like it was used to hide behind than anything else. “And…I have slept too long already. Putting my abilities to use is far preferable at the moment.”

“Suit yourself. You know how to contact me.” And that was that. Zack waited until they were well out of earshot—even for a SOLDIER. He _did_ have mako eyes after all—before he rounded on Kunsel with his questions, “Who the _heck_ was that? Where did you meet him? He’s probably helping because of the town, but can you trust the guy?”

“Honestly? No.” Kunsel’s rather blunt answer froze Zack in his tracks. Kunsel sighed and slowed his pace, “Vincent has no reason to love ShinRa and all the reason to hate it. We have an agreement for the most part—He wants to protect the citizens of Nibelhiem from further harm, and bring Genesis to justice. He is working with me toward that goal only. I trust him in a professional capacity. I do not, however, trust him not to seize an opportunity for revenge if it should come to his attention.”

_Revenge…?_

_“Just tell him there’s a danger to his life, if it comes to that.”_

_“He’s_ the assassin!?”

And Kunsel was _working_ with him?

“Zack…” Kunsel turned around, locking eyes with Zack. They stood facing each other on the stone path, on a ridge overlooking the sad little town below. “I need you to trust _me_ on this.”

“How can I trust you when you’re acting so… _strange?”_ Zack blurted out, his mind oddly blank for how chaotic he was feeling, “Laboratories. Working with assassins. Gods…” Oops. He hadn’t meant for that last one to slip out. He _was_ still confused about what happened at the Northern Crater. ShinRa’s priorities…

He didn’t know _what_ to believe now.

And he didn’t want to think about the name that hovered on the edge of his mind when he brushed his fingers against a materia, too small, but set into a strange wing-motifed bracer he’d never bought. He’d had to custom order an adapter for the slot he usually used, but this one fit _perfectly._

“Gods…Funny you should mention that.” Kunsel mused quietly to himself, but then shook his head. His smile was strained, and Zack had a hard time reconciling the normally unguarded face he saw as his friend, and the wary, tired one he saw now. “I am still _me_ Zack. This is just…the first time you’ve seen me _working_ without my mask.”

Something about the way he said it told Zack that he didn’t just mean his missing helmet.

“It’s just…I’ve got it under control, Zack. Vincent won’t hurt anyone as long as we don’t give him a reason to. And he has a _very good_ reason to hurt the Director. I’ll explain, I promise. As soon as the cargo plane leaves.”

It would leave. It would leave and continue on to Midgar.

And Hojo would go with it.

Zack exhaled, and the tension bleeding out in the gust of air. His shoulders sagged. Technically _he_ outranked Kunsel. He was a SOLDIER First Class. Kunsel was only a Second.

But Kunsel hardly _ever_ asked anything of him. And all he was asking was for Zack to trust him.

Zack wasn’t very comfortable with the way he felt about the Company now. He thought it wasn’t right. But that didn’t mean he was comfortable with working with known _assassins._ Especially not without knowing _why._

Kunsel knew the reasoning. Kunsel always knew.

But Kunsel _had_ told him about the danger. He could have easily kept silent if he wanted to.

“…Fine. But I will be holding you to that. I expect answers as _SOON_ as the plane is off the ground.”

A smile.

“Deal.”

x-x-x

“What do you mean you are _staying!?”_

Zack stared uncomprehending at the scientist who, though he was a good foot shorter than Zack, always gave him the impression he was looking down his nose at him.

“I thought my orders were quite clear.” Hojo adjusted his glasses, “I will be remaining in this town for the foreseeable future, and require suitable accommodations to be made ready. One of the remaining buildings would do nicely. Preferably the least…damaged.”

“I can’t just turn people out of their house for you—and didn’t you _hear_ me? You are in danger as long as you stay here!”

“From what? These…people?” The scientist waved his arm vaguely at the window, at the ragged towsfolk milling about, helping those from Rocket Town as they worked to clear away the larger pieces of debris—the rain had served to wash most of the ash away. “If you believe the two _SOLDIERs_ here now would have any trouble with this rubbish, then I really must have someone look into reevaluating your training methods.” He sniffed, “If it is about Hollander’s trash… Sephiroth will clean it up.”

Zack clenched his fists, trying to push down the reaction Hojo’s utterly dismissive tone was provoking within him. The man didn’t even bother to acknowledge the point about _turning people out of their own homes._ He knew it wouldn’t work—the Director didn’t care about anyone other than himself of his precious projects, which was why he’d mentioned the threat on his life. If that wasn’t enough…“Don’t you have some important time-sensitive experiment back in Midgar? What about that?”

“I am the _Director_ of the Science Department. I have _many_ projects.” Hojo sneered, “Including a long, important, and _expensive_ ongoing one that was stored within the ShinRa Mansion. I have a right to be here when the Turks arrive to investigate its destruction, don’t I?”

The Director waved his hand dismissively, “Now do as I asked. I will require privacy and security, neither of which may be found in a… _tent._ Offer to pay the wretches, or use force, I do not care which. _Go SOLDIER._ ”

And damn it, Zack hated himself, because he turned, knowing he would follow his orders.

Before he left the cabin on the plane, something stopped him.

“Are you… _angry_ SOLDIER? You seem unusually…on edge.”

The voice was curious, as if discussing the weather and not a _very_ volatile emotion that was definitely _not good_ when dealing with super powered SOLDIERs.

 _Of course I am._ Zack wanted to snap back, but held his tongue, pushing the rest of the way without looking back.

“Perhaps the mountain air does not agree with you.”

The pleased chuckle that followed him out only served to fan the flame further.

x-x-x

Zack had waited until Kunsel was done checking up on the wounded before breaking the news that the director wasn’t going anywhere. He expected Kunsel to be more upset about the news, but the other SOLDIER just sighed and rubbed his temples.

“That is…unexpected, but not completely unworkable.” Kunsel deposited the green materia he’d been using back into his satchel, grabbing a blue vial—an Ether most likely—and chugging it down in the resulting moment of silence. Zack watched the practiced movements carefully; Kunsel had an entire stash of the things, which would make sense for primarily a magic user. “Once we deal with Genesis, I don’t think Vincent will hang around long enough for the Turks to arrive and the investigation to begin. I assume you got him a house?”

“Last house on the row,” Any further words got stuck in his throat as he remembered the ragged families he’d had to usher out of the building, making sure they had a large expedition tent, plenty of clothes and blankets—plus a sizable renter’s fee of course. The last house in the ring, on the edge of town furthest from the mountains. The owners had already been sheltering two other families. Hojo had looked it over, sniffed, and claimed it was adequate.

Zack had wanted to punch him.

Which didn’t make any _sense._ Why was he getting so irritated? Kunsel had been on edge the whole time too. Was it something in the air? Just the overall atmosphere of the place?

“You will…have to guard him tonight.” Kunsel said at last, “I will need to be here in case Vincent has anything to report.”

 _…and we don’t want him anywhere near the director._ Zack finished the reasoning for himself. He stared out the window, at the bulk of the cargo plane looming over the town’s gate. It would be leaving this evening, empty, save for the confused pilot. The workers from Rocket Town and the Captain would be staying for a few days to get the town back on its feet.

“Will you still tell me?” Hojo wouldn’t leave now. The promise was that Kunsel would explain once he was gone. Kunsel grimaced and looked away, “Give me some time.”

“Why?” Zack clenched his fists. “You told me to trust you. You’re the one not trusting _me_ here, buddy.”

“Because I _know_ you, Zack.” Kunsel stared down at the empty vial, rolling it between gloved fingers, “Do _you_ think you could keep silent if you knew something was wrong? Could you, in good faith, pretend nothing was the matter as you stood guard over that man if you knew what he had done?”

Zack started to speak, and then caught himself.

He wanted to say ‘Yes.’

He really wanted to say yes. But as he stared into Kunsel’s tired face, he knew that his friend was right.

Knowing what Hollander had done to Angeal...

Vincent had _mako_ _eyes._ He was not a SOLDIER.

_“…he has a very good reason to hurt the Director.”_

If Vincent had a secret half as bad as that…Zack didn’t think he could. The Director already made him uncomfortable, and was hard enough to get along with.

“…alright.” Zack stuffed his hands into his pockets, turning toward the stairs. “I’m going to go check on Spike. Let me know if you need me.”

He tried to put it out of his mind, but it nagged at him.

What had the Director _done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last completed chapter I have. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten busier over the last few months and writing has slowed drastically. I’m in the process of working on the next + a Haku side story, but obviously it’s not going very well since neither is done at the moment :x So scheduled updates are going to stop, but I will put out the chapters once they get finished! Remember to bookmark the story and/or the series in order to be notified when they happen.


	21. Lost and Found

Everything was…green.

The green of life. The green of new leaves.

The ocean swirled around and through everything—briefly touching the souls of all living things. Power thrummed around him as he followed that feeling of connection, keeping a close eye on the ever weakening thread leading back to the unconscious body. He was…beginning to worry. He'd been pulled into this world by nothing more than a prayer, by the shards of a contract he'd thought fulfilled long ago.

But the energy needed to fully manifest and summon the rain…it had been too much for the shard that was all that remained of his Oathstone. He'd reached too far, and the boy slipped from Haku's grasp.

He couldn't go home like this. Couldn't just _abandon_ the boy.

So Haku had dove after him.

This place…felt…almost like home. And he knew well what happened to a human spirit that strayed too long in the land of the gods. Eventually—they became a part of it and never returned. Or faded away completely—overwhelmed. Just like the millions of other souls that whispered around him, swept along by the stream of life energy. If he listened closely, beyond the whispers he heard another sound. One that set his nerves on edge.

Screams. They were faint…but they were screams. Pain. Fear. Sorrow.

Danger.

He shuddered and blocked them out. He couldn't just leave him here. Especially since it was his fault.

"Cloud!" He called out, the sound becoming lost in the sea of whispers. At the use of a name, the flickering thread grew stronger, separating it from the rest of the nameless souls. Haku latched onto that, letting the solidarity of his spirit form fade as he _pulled_ himself through the ethereal landscape.

When he reemerged, it wasn't quite what he was expecting. He was still surrounded by the same otherworldly glow, but there was _ground_ beneath his feet, spots of color nestled in the green. White. Yellow. Pink.

Haku knelt down, the petals brushing against his hakama. The green separated into individual blades of grass, clustering around the flowers that added a different color to the landscape. This was _strange._ His home had a tangible landscape, but he hadn't seen any indication of that here. It was _quiet_ too. The ever present whispers were only a background murmur, like the quiet rumble of a small stream.

It felt so…bizarre. Was this even the same place?

He pushed himself back to his feet, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful scenery, searching for his wayward charge. Cloud had been the one to lead him here…He didn't know what to expect what he would find. None of the other souls held a solid form here, and Cloud had already been fading when Haku last saw him…

"Oh my…you're a new one."

The voice was almost jarring after the unaccustomed silence. Someone was coming into view at the edge of the field, where the grass and flowers melted back into the nebulous stream of souls. Color against the green backdrop. Long brown hair. Green eyes. A ruffled blue and white dress, pink ribbon in her hair.

But most surprisingly of all—she was _real._ Solid. Even Haku, who was grounded to Cloud's body, was a little translucent here.

"Come now, don't be shy!" She was smiling brightly, and Haku couldn't help the small ache he still felt when thinking of a different brunette's smile, "I normally don't get many visitors to my field much less two in the same dream!"

"…two?" He'd arrived here following _Cloud's_ energy. "Was the other a blonde boy? Is he still here?"

"Oh yes. He was so lost… " Her smile dimmed, turning to look out over the swirling mists beyond the edge of the field, "The Lifestream is not kind to those who do not belong here." She seemed to shake herself out of some thought or another, "Forgive my manners, Honored guest, I didn't introduce myself. My name is Aerith. You are here seeking your summoner, correct?"

Haku stiffened when those green eyes settled back on him, but he shook his head. Names were important. He wasn't willing to just give up his. "My Oathstone is broken. I do not have a…Summoner."

At least not in the traditional sense. "But…the boy is my responsibility. I thank you for sheltering him." He bowed deeply, lowering his gaze to the ground—he was affording her the same respect he'd show Zeniba and Yubaba for all their influence and power—a mistress of her own territory. It may not be as grandiose as the bath house, or as large as Zeniba's swamp…

But this field was _her's._ He could sense it, now that he was looking. What had she said? A dream _?_ Was this field her dream?

"Oathstone…? Oh, you mean the materia." Aerith blushed, "I'm sorry, most of what I know is from talking with Ammy, and she doesn't much care for details. I assumed he was your summoner since you kind of… _feel_ like him." She began to walk through the flowers, beckoning for him to follow, "I hope you know what to do, I'm afraid I'm at a loss. He looks better since I pulled him into my dream, but I can't stay asleep all day. I worry what will happen if I let him drift again."

She chatted as they walked, but Haku only listened with half an ear, keeping an eye on the surroundings. The sky seemed to change color the further from the edge they got, to the point where he almost couldn't tell they were in the same green place as before. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky, the occasional puffy clouds floating on a light breeze.

"…I wish I could see the real sky." Aerith sighed, the longing in her voice drawing Haku's attention again.

"You can't?"

"No. I have lived beneath the plate for as long as I can remember…" As they walked, the dream continued to shift around them, becoming dimmer. Darker. The flowers and grasses shriveled and died, leaving dry, lifeless dust beneath their feet. Rundown buildings rose on either side of the narrow road, buildings that seemed to be made of trash as much as actual wood or stone. A dim, unnatural light shown from above in the gloom, man-made lights set into a metal cap that blocked out the sky.

Haku _hated_ it. He shuddered, remembering the cold and lifeless place his river had become. A place of concrete, metal, and glass. This was far, far worse.

"Sorry. I would have much rather we stayed in the meadow, but…I brought Cloud here. It's closer to reality, and I didn't want him to wander out again. He's not very…grounded."

There was a large structure rising up before them. Wood. Actual wood, even if the style of architecture was utterly foreign to him. Part of the roof was caved in, and one of the doors was missing from its hinges. Haku eyed the structure warily—it looked better maintained than the surrounding buildings, but that wasn't saying much. It still looked like a good breeze would knock it over.

If this was her reality…Haku could understand the idyllic dream he'd arrived in.

She knocked lightly on the remaining door, her knuckles making a rat-ta-tat sound on the wooden slab, "I'm back!" The call echoed in the vaulted space, and Haku realized it was a surprisingly open beyond the narrow entry way. Rows of dusty benches lined a central aisle leading into the center of the room. There were no lights—lamps or otherwise—other than the impression of sunlight filtering through a hole in the ceiling. It was this light that drew the eye in the otherwise gloomy room, highlighting the miracle hiding beneath it.

A cheerful bark answered her call, and Aerith smiled, moving toward the center of the room. Inside, was an impossibility.

It was as if someone had taken a photograph of the meadow and transplanted it here in this run-down old building. Rotted floor gave way to green grass, leaves, and multicolored flowers, all clustered together at the end of the aisle. Sprawled among the flowers was what Haku would have called a wolf, if it weren't for the fire flickering along its back, and the shimmering translucent red markings running along its muzzle and shoulders. It may hold the shape of the beasts who used to run along his river bank in ages past, but that was no dumb animal.

…even if it acted no different from any domesticated pet, panting and wagging its tail as Aerith knelt down among the blooms , scratching the beast under the chin. "Thanks for watching over things while I was away, Ammy. I found someone who is looking for our little visitor. Is he doing okay?

The excited tail slowed, and then stilled, a whine building in the wolf's throat. It rolled, lifting a large paw and revealing the quivering soul nestled protected against its side. Cloud looked…worn. A tiny, flickering presence barely discernible among white fur and green leaves.

"I'm sorry I took so long."

Haku reached for that uncertain presence, it shrank back, curling into the wolf's side. It flickered between the translucent teenager Haku had rescued from the flames, and an insubstantial bundle of raw emotions and nightmarish memories.

"We've got to go back, Cloud."

Three days. Three days and Cloud was already this far gone. It wasn't surprising. After all that he'd seen, this wasn't like his Spirit World, a haven for the non-human. It was an ocean of souls. Of thoughts. Of memories. And Cloud's last memories were of his world going up in flames.

"You can't stay here, silly. Your friends are worried about you."

Aerith swept in and wrapped her arms around Cloud's flickering shoulders, squeezing them tightly. He seemed to stabilize at the contact, and even the large wolf turned to place its head on his knees.

"I would really like to meet you, some day." Aerith whispered to him, "But to do that, you've got to go home. Let the nightmare end. Let Kohaku take you home."

Haku stiffened at the use of his name—the name he _hadn't_ given her—but said nothing. He just waited, hand outstretched. Cloud was looking at him, but he wasn't seeing anything, shaking in Aerith's hold.

" _You_ saved everyone, Cloud. _"_ Haku spoke quietly; keeping his steady gaze locked with Cloud's, "By summoning me, you saved them all."

_Nonono I_ _**failed.** _ _Didn'tstophim…_

The stream of thoughts were faint, at the very edge of Haku's perception. The link was still there, even if it was strained. "You did _not_ fail. You called for _help_. The man in red was driven off!"

_Kunselmusthave. I couldn't— ._

"Cloud!" It took a lot to anger Haku—but he was getting there. " _You_ had the shard. It was _you_ who called me. _No one else_ could have!"

It shouldn't have even worked. Not with his Oathstone shattered over a century ago.

"If you won't accept that—at _least_ understand that it isn't fire and destruction waiting for you. It's worried friends. Family. Tifa. If you wait too long you won't be able to see them again _."_

 _That_ got his attention. Faded blue eyes focused, locking onto Haku's waiting hand.

"You won't know until you go back." Aerith continued gently, stroking the blonde's hair, "Could you really just leave them behind forever?"

Cloud's hand was trembling, but it was rising. Slowly.

Haku grabbed it, pulling him out of Aerith's arms and to his feet. The boy turned, looking back at her. Pleading.

… _I can come back, right?_

"Of course." Aerith nodded. Her wolf barked in agreement, tail wagging happily. "Come find me in Midgar, someday. I'll show you the real flowers."

Cloud took a shuddering breathe and nodded, turning back to Haku.

_I guess…I'm ready._

Haku nodded and reached, searching for the strained thread connecting him to Cloud. The boy shivered at the touch, and everything faded. The ever present whispers. The faint screams. And Aerith's bright smile.

But there was something else there, as the dream faded to green and then to black. Golden armor. Silken wings.

_Minerva._

She nodded at him from over Aerith's shoulder.

_The Oathstone may have broken, but your term has not yet ended, Nigihayami Kohaku Nushi._

Haku stiffened.

_In recognition of your past service, and your willingness to return, I offer you a choice._

_Leave the child. Return home knowing you will never need to be called on again. I will consider your contract fulfilled._

That didn't sound so bad. He had thought it was completed long ago, this would merely be a formality.

 _Or._ She continued, _Remain and I shall transfer your contract to the boy alone. Protect him, as the fates swirl and the Calamity wakens._

Haku tightened his hold on Cloud's hand. The boy didn't react. He was frozen. Frozen just as Aerith was. Just as her dream was, half deconstructed, everything fading into black nothingness.

"Will he be safe if I leave?"

The words hung in the air before him. Heavy.

_I…cannot say. There are multiple paths, and many lead to suffering._

In that case…there was really only one answer. There wasn't much left for him at the Bath House, or Foggy Bottom Swamp.

Not with her gone.

"I'll stay."

She smiled.

_So be it._

_x-x-x_

Cloud jerked awake. Something pinned him down. He couldn't breathe. He was too warm. Oh gods, they'd _lied._ He was trapped under the fallen roof, the fire just beyond the cracking wood—he could head it, roaring—

_Calm down._

He struggled, the debris surrounding him impeding his movement, but it _did_ shift.

" _Cloud!"_

No, no, he wasn't listening. He'd listened and they'd _lied!_

" _Oh my god, Cloud! Kunsel! Kunsel! Come quick!"_

_Think! Where's the fire?_

It was out there—he could hear it, roaring, consuming everythi—

Wait…

It was quiet.

It was warm, but not burning.

The material binding him was constricting, but flexible.

Wood on wood. The world flared to light. Cloud blinked at the sudden vision, twisting and staring uncomprehendingly at the wooden ceiling _far_ above him. He was lost in a knot of thick, heavy blankets. He…knew this room, even though he'd only been in here once.

And then there was a face. A face that sent his already beating heart racing. Carefully trying to untangle himself from the blankets, Cloud pushed himself up to meet it.

_Tifa…_

"You _idiot!"_ There were tears gathering in the corner of her red-brown eyes, catching the light shining from the overhead lamp. She launched herself at him, knocking him backwards into the pillows propped against the headboard. His arms trembled, but he caught her. She pressed her cheek against his chest.

" _You idiot…"_ The words were whispered, her fists curling into the loose fabric of his shirt, "You didn't even _tell_ me…"

He wanted to speak, but his throat was dry. He couldn't even make a sound. They'd never been _this_ close. He hesitantly settled a shaking hand on her river of deep brown hair. She…

"I _should_ be mad at you…!"

_Your friends are worried about you._

"You were _right there—"_

The…one bright spot in that long, fading nightmare.

"—this _whole_ time—"

_Could you really just leave them behind forever?_

"—and I didn't even find out until you almost _died."_

…no. No he couldn't have.

"…I'm sorry…"

The words were nothing more than a breath of air, hissing from his dry throat. Tifa suddenly straightened up, and Cloud looked away as she aggressively worked to clear the moisture clinging to her lashes. She never did like others to see her cry.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again, Cloud Strife, you hear me?"

He nodded hesitantly, not trusting his traitorous voice. How could she understand just how _ashamed_ he'd felt, coming home like this? It wasn't like he'd _planned…_ that…

That…

He shuddered and shied away from the memories of chaos and fire and the world falling down around him.

"My…" His voice cracked. He swallowed a gulp of water Tifa shoved into his shaking hands. The glass had been sitting on the bedside table, ignored. His throat felt almost burned. From the smoke? He couldn't see daylight— _or firelight—_ around the edges of the closed curtains. "My…mother…is…"

"She's fine. Just fine. Sleeping. She's been helping Kunsel with the wounded."

_Kunsel…_

_So that's what happened…_

Kunsel must have saved them.

" _ **You**_ _saved everyone, Cloud."_

No. That was impossible. Fragments of his dream. The boy in white didn't exist. Neither did the green-eyed angel. Something inside ached at that thought, but he put it aside. The long nightmare was fading. None of it mattered anymore.

He was here.

His mother was alive.

 _Tifa_ was alive.

And that was something he hadn't dared to hope for.

_x-x-x_

The engine hum droned in Sephiroth's ear. He hated planes. As with any mechanical white noise he could tune it out to an extent, but it was still irritating. Always buzzing just on the edge of his hearing.

He stared out the window at the landscape crawling along below. He'd spent nearly the entire flight in this room, watching as the Midgardian wastes gave way to ocean, and later the flat, mostly grassy plains that housed Rocket Town. They'd briefly stopped there to refuel, but Sephiroth hadn't left the cabin.

Twisted spires of rock passed beneath them now, reaching toward him like gnarled fingers. Accusing him of the deed he had yet to do.

Genesis…

It was time to end this.

One way or another.

He hadn't been able to kill Angeal. He'd forced Zack to go on that mission.

Genesis…Genesis _was_ his responsibility.

So Sephiroth waited. Glued to the window of his cabin. Stars twinkled in a black sky, the moon painting the mountain's spines in ghostly white. He couldn't sleep. Hadn't been able to sleep since they'd arrived on this continent. He had to steel himself for what was coming.

Genesis was the only friend he had left.

The engine drone was building, causing a dull ache to rise behind his temples. The plane shuddered. Turbulence? The pilot had warned the crossing had the tendency to be rough.

No. The sound wasn't quite the same. He could still _hear_ the engines…but this whine was…something else. It was growing steadily louder. Something in the machinery? No. It didn't _feel_ mechanical. It didn't sound like anything made by man nor machine.

It resonated in his bones, causing him to shiver, as if he were a string someone just plucked.

_**Beware.** _

Sephiroth jerked, tearing his eyes from the landscape. That little warning—a finely honed instinct blaring to life—sent him back to the early days of the Wutai campaign, where he'd been on the front lines. His first war. The first of many between ShinRa and the Island nation. It usually preceded a Wutaian ninja driving a knife towards his back.

Nothing. Masamune was naked in his grasp, unsheathed against an invisible foe.

The shrill sound had yet to die. His head was pounding.

The pilot.

He should go talk to the pilot.

He took one step toward the door, and the plane buckled. Crumpling. Magic searing through the metal hull as if it were no more than wet paper. He could feel it thrumming in the air. Another shot, this one knifing directly through where he'd been standing, near the window.

The rushing air picked him up, and threw him out. Tumbling head over heels in a flurry of silver hair and black leather. The plane was a screaming mess of fire and metal and it plummeted away from him, carried onward by its forward momentum. Sephiroth was only able to briefly see a flutter of familiar red, held aloft by a single black wing. Two—no three of them—clones, each one charging magic charging for another volley of blasts—and then he lost the sight, casting a series of defensive spells around himself as the stone of the mountainside rushed up to meet him. He didn't think it would kill him, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to it.

A series of bangs, lost in the rush of the wind. The magic fizzled and died. At last, an impact, knocking the air from his lungs, sharp edges slicing through skin. He held on for a moment, and then slipped away into the blissful embrace of unconsciousness.

**Shhhhh…mother's here.**


	22. Communication

The roar of an approaching helicopter shattered the silence of the sleepy dawn. Not that any of the sun’s light would touch the town anytime soon. The lights on the gate were lit, illuminating the only two people out and about this early in the morning. Zack muffled a yawn as he stood just to the side, keeping a drooping eye on the scientist waiting impatiently for the approaching transport. He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. The one time he’d managed to nod off he’d jerked awake out of a weird nightmare he couldn’t remember.

Zack yawned again, ignoring Hojo’s snark about professionalism, the wind picking up and whipping his hair around, blasting bits of grit and leaves into his face. Luckily, he was used to worse. It barely even fazed him.

The large machine settled onto its runners, the _thwump-thwump-thwump_ slowing and dying as the engine cooled and settled. Zack focused on the symbol emblazoned on the side of the helicopter, just to the left of the door. ShinRa Company, of course…but the subtitle under the company logo indicated this was the helicopter stationed in Costa del Sol.

Why would Sephiroth be coming via Costa del Sol? The trip was twice as long if you went from Midgar to Junon and _then_ across the western ocean.

He wasn’t allowed to speculate on it much, because the door hissed and slid open, and the man who stepped out of it in a neatly pressed suit most definitely _not_ Sephiroth.

…an escort, maybe? Sephiroth hadn’t mentioned any Turks…

The man nodded curtly to the professor before stepping to the side to allow two more to disembark. Another man and a woman, neither of which Zack recognized—so they weren’t the ones stationed in Midgar under Tseng. One of the worrisome things about the Turks was that no one outside the department knew exactly how many and who they were.

“…where’s Sephiroth?” He asked, uneasily watching as the pilot—a fourth Turk, although his face was currently hidden by a helmet—began to unload bags and packages, which were being distributed among the other members.

The first one to disembark—a tall man with glasses and a jagged scar running down his cheek—paused at the question, shooting a glance at the waiting Director of the Science Department. At a head shake from the scientist, he gave Zack an apologetic shrug, but didn’t say a word.

“You are dismissed.” Hojo was the one to finally acknowledge Zack’s existence, and even that with only a side-ways glance and a sharp gesture back towards the town, “I require your… _protection_ no longer. You have some garbage to clean up, don’t you?” The sneer was quite audible, and had Zack grinding his teeth in frustration. He turned on heel and stalked back toward the town, intent on finding Kunsel and ranting just to vent some of the uncharacteristic anger.

But something he heard before moving out of earshot snuffed it out like a flame in a sudden gust of chill wind.

“…we lost contact with the General’s transport a few hours ago. They should have been here by now.”

Torn between lingering behind, and hurrying ahead, Zack decided to duck behind the wooden fence and _listen._

_x-x-x_

Fortunately, Kunsel was already awake when Zack barged into Tifa’s house that morning, nearly shouting at the top of his lungs. Unfortunately, Mayor Lockhart _wasn’t_ , and he wasn’t happy about being woken up at—Kunsel checked his PHS—6:30 in the morning.

_“bad enough I have to lend my home to you ShinRa **dogs** , but now you come in here making a nuisance of yourself and robbing me of my **sleep** as well? I should just kick you all out **right now…!** ”_

The shouts were coming from the hallway, where Tifa had quickly intercepted him.

 _“Father!”_ Kunsel sighed and massaged his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. At least he didn’t have to deal with the Mayor. Tifa volunteered herself for that duty immediately, with a suffering sigh and eye rolls. “ _Keep your voice down! You aren’t helping the injured by shouting back. And you Zack, maybe you should be a little **quieter** before the sun comes out…?”_

Luckily the volume faded as she ushered her father down the hall and away. Zack entered the room afterwards, looking thoroughly chastised and more than a little red in the face. Whether that was from running all the way here, or embarrassment at his own part of the affair, Kunsel didn’t dare guess. Movement and the shuffling of blankets told him that Cloud had been woken by the debacle, sleepy blue eyes blinking from over the thick blankets.

“…Z-Zack?” A shaking hand went to his head, probably wincing at a headache. Kunsel handed him a glass of water automatically. Muscle weakness and dehydration were a common aftereffect of mako treatment. “W-what are you doing here?”

 _That_ got the SOLDIER’s attention.

“Cloud!” Zack perked up, quickly crossing the remainder of the room to come to a stop at the foot of Cloud’s bed. Really, it was Tifa’s, but she would hear none of it when Cloud had turned a rather amusing shade of tomato and insisted he could sleep on the floor. “What, you’re surprised they called in the cavalry after what happened?”

“N-no…but…so soon?”

And…here was something Kunsel had been worried about since learning Cloud was awake. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to the trooper yet. He’d been content to give Tifa and Cloud a chance to air their issues _without_ him hovering. After that…well…Cloud had fallen back asleep.

“You’ve been out for four days now, Cloud. Zack arrived yesterday.” Kunsel wisely took the half-empty glass of water from Cloud’s suddenly slack fingers.

“W-what?”

“Aww, don’t sweat it Spike. It’s not every day a summon materia blows up in your face.” Zack sat on the foot of the bed, “I’m just glad you did wake up. Some people don’t, you know.”

Cloud looked…troubled…but Kunsel decided against asking about it right now. Instead he raised an eyebrow at Zack, “I assume this wasn’t your reason for waking everyone up at an ungodly hour? I told you last night to let him rest before barging in. Also, shouldn’t you be on duty?”

Specifically, guarding the Director.

“Oh…right…thaaat.” Zack flushed, his smile fading. “I’m actually here about that…” But he didn’t continue, and instead looked between Cloud and Kunsel uncertainly. Cloud picked up on it immediately.

“I-I’ll step out for a minute—”

“You aren’t going _anywhere._ Not in that condition. _”_ Kunsel gave him a look that had Cloud sinking back down into the covers. If there really was a classified issue, then he would take Zack and go out instead of kicking Cloud out of his sickbed. Luckily, that wasn’t an issue. “Just go ahead and say it, Zack. Cloud’s a ShinRa employee, not a civilian.”

“I know _that._ ” Zack grumbled, “I just didn’t know how classified the situation is. _Anyway_. Did you hear the helicopter earlier?”

Kunsel nodded. That was why he was awake, in fact. He’d been expecting it. “Has Sephiroth arrived?”

“No, actually.” Zack snickered at the squeaked ‘ _Sephiroth?’_ from Cloud’s direction, but the grin faded quickly, “It’s some Turks—not Tseng and the others. Apparently Hojo called them in as soon as he discovered our change of plans.”

A…quick move, given he hadn’t known the extent of the damage to the lab that far back. But at least it freed them up from guard duty. “It’s well within his rights to request an investigation, Zack. The ShinRa Mansion is ShinRa property.”

The entire town was, if his theory was correct, but he was just going to keep that bit of speculation to himself for now.

“I _know_ , but I haven’t finished yet.” Zack began tapping his gloved hand against the comforter, “The worrying part is what one of the Turks said as I was leaving. They’d been in contact with the pilot of Sephiroth’s transport—another Turk apparently—until about four hours ago. They calculated the flight path, and it vanished while traversing the mountain range.”

“Vanished? If it was just radio silence, the Nibel Mountains messes with communications.”

Most mako reactors did, in fact. Midgar had a ton of fail-safes and extra precautions to give them the reliable communications network they had. The Nibel Reactor was probably too out of the way to be worth the money and labor to set those up.

Zack shook his head, “Hojo said the same thing, but the Turks didn’t think so. The pilot’s reported ETA had their arrival time by 4 am. They are over two hours late by now, and there wasn’t any weather that would force a landing. The Turks radio’d Rocket Town—apparently they had clear skies when they refueled last night, and not so much as a cloud has been spotted since.”

Kunsel pulled up a mental map of the continent. The quickest flight path from Midgar was through Rocket Town, and from there directly through the mountains. He calculated the path, frowning, “Zack…you came on a transport from Rocket Town, correct?”

Transports couldn’t fly as high as helicopters or airships could, and many of the peaks broke the threshold for safe flying heights. It would force the planes through specific airspaces. Helicopters didn’t have the fuel to cross the ocean on their own, and airships would be far too expensive for even Sephiroth to commandeer one.

“Yeah? What of it?”

One of the largest empty spaces in the mountains…

“Did the pilot take you near the reactor?”

“Yeah. I remember seeing it from the bridge. We didn’t go near it, of course, but I could see it.”

Vincent was keeping Genesis in the reactor. He had admitted that he couldn’t keep track of all the clones, but since they’d ruled out another attack on the town, and the Clones only seemed to be able to comprehend basic instructions…

_Like shoot down a lone ShinRa transport?_

But then, why wouldn’t he attack Zack’s transport just yesterday? _How_ would he know it wasn’t Sephiroth’s?

“Oh damn. Genesis.” Zack was pale. He seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “We need to get out there! Yeah Seph’s tough, but crashes have _killed_ SOLDIERs before. There’s only so much mako can heal.”

They needed to find out what happened before they ventured into the mountains. Kunsel reached for his summon materia, knowing it would be glowing beneath the false green cap. It felt different than usual. More resistance.

He’d left Loki with Vincent at the reactor. Kunsel had never tried to resummon him from a different geographical location. He didn’t even know if it would work. But the materia was reacting. That was a plus.

And then suddenly he shuddered, a large drain of magic suddenly being sucked into the materia. He reached for an ether automatically, and stopped himself. He _was_ running low, and the town’s General Store had been one of the victims of the fire. He couldn’t afford to waste them now.

_By the All-father, don’t **do** that._

The feathered bundle of irritation appeared in a flash of bright light, right above Zack’s head. The SOLDIER yelped in surprise as talons caught on to his uniform, his shoulder being the nearest perch. He tried to dislodge the bird, only to have Loki snap at Kunsel, _Get him to **stop moving**. This is difficult enough as it is._

“Zack. Chill.” Kunsel couldn’t help a chuckle at how Zack tried to crane his neck to see the head-sized growth he seemed to have acquired. Loki glared right back with one wide green bird’s eye. _Thank you **.** Now, mind explaining why you tried to force me through the metaphysical equivalent of a straw?_

 **“** Kunsel…why did a bird suddenly appear inside and decide to take over my shoulder?”

“You aren’t the only one with summon materia, Zack.” Kunsel shrugged. He directed the next comment directly to his sum—eidolon, “Sorry. I didn’t realize it would be any different from a normal summoning.”

 _The ritual isn’t designed for translocation._ Loki grumbled, _It would have kicked me back home only to summon me again if I hadn’t teleported. Anyway, what did you want?_

“You sure?” Zack was looking at it skeptically, “It looks…kinda too…plain to be a summon…”

 **_Plain_ ** _!? I shall have you know this form is of a very intelligent, regal animal, and is most useful in its simplicity!_

The bird puffed out his chest and snagged Zack’s long bang in his beak, tugging harshly on it and causing the SOLDIER to make an undignified yelp.

“Oi! Beak _OFF_ the hair! _Ouch!_ Kunsel heeeeeelp~”

Cloud was trying his best to bury his laughter in the heavy covers, probably for the benefit of Zack’s dignity. Kunsel wouldn’t have even bothered to try. Watching Zack argue with a bird while trying in vain to dislodge a stubborn Loki was too surreal.

Thank Gaea for his Turk training otherwise he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face, “Zack, stop antagonizing him. As for you…” He eyed the bird, “Behave.”

“Why is it _my_ fault?! The bird was the one to attack me!”

_Behave? Me? He should be **honored** to be chosen for my perch._

Cloud snickered. Kunsel recognized the gleam in Loki’s eyes. He’d found a new victim. Kunsel had stopped reacting to most of his antics long ago.

There was no saving Zack now.

“The reason I called…” Kunsel coughed, trying to get the topic at least back on track, “Was to ask if you saw anything strange near the reactor this morning.”

That quieted both of the arguing parties. Zack was eyeing the bird suspiciously, and Loki fluffed his feathers, completely accidently on purpose smacking Zack in the face with his wings.

“Oi!”

_Mmm. Yes, actually, if you count a large ball of fire and metal, strange. The vampire ran off after it._

_Vampite?_ Kunsel repeated the thought, amused. That term seemed to be Loki’s favorite means of identifying Vincent, although he refused to explain what it meant. “So no one is watching the reactor?”

 _I **was**_ _until you called me here._

“Well, then get back. We’ll meet you up there.” He paused, and then added, “Would you like to teleport? I can use an Ether.”

_I would rather fly, thank you. That was a decidedly uncomfortable way to travel._

Kunsel stood up as Loki shook his wings once more, crossing the room to the shuttered window. It opened to the still dark sky to the west, even as he could see light creeping around the edges of the mountains to the east. He heard Zack hiss in pain and a flurry of wings chased him down as he pushed the window itself open.

Kunsel watched Loki as he flew—making two laps around the town center—a dark speck against the black sky, and then turned away, back to the questions he knew were waiting for him.

Zack was clutching his shoulder; uniform shredded and bloodstained where Loki’s claws had dug in. It would be already healing at this rate. But Zack didn’t seem concerned at the state of his uniform. He was staring thoughtfully at Kunsel, for once not saying anything.

Kunsel irrationally wanted something to hide behind. Badly. Not for the first time did he find himself desperately wishing for his helmet.

He’d gotten so used to Vincent’s unquestioning acceptance of his and Loki’s…conversations that he hadn’t even thought twice about the _way_ he spoke.

Instead of smacking himself on the head like he wanted to, he just sighed, keeping that straight face as best as he could. “Well? Out with it.”

Zack probably wouldn’t just call him crazy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking it.

“…what’s a vampire?” Cloud’s quiet question had _Kunsel_ staring.

He hadn’t said that out loud…had he?

“…where did you hear that?”

The boy blinked, tilting his head in confusion. “The bird used it. I’ve just never heard of it before.”

“Cloud…” Zack began hesitantly, “ _I_ didn’t hear anything. I only heard Kunsel’s replies.”

Cloud paled, his fists clenching into the blankets. “But it was talking to you!”

“He’s _my_ summon, Cloud.” Kunsel said carefully. Cloud looked like he was on the verge of panic, “As far as I know, I was the _only_ one to hear him.”

Kunsel wasn’t sure how to diffuse the situation. Luckily Zack was one step ahead of him with a wide grin and a friendly shoulder punch, “Aw man, Spike, I’m jealous! I had to resort to _charades_ to communicate with my summon, and here you go chatting up Kunsel’s! Go on, tell me what he said! I just _know_ he was insulting me—”

The look Zack shot Kunsel over Cloud’s shoulder included a promise that there would be questions. Later.

x-x-x

 

The dawn was deceptively silent as Vincent sat on the rocky outcropping, keeping a sharp eye on the unusual find he’d discovered on the mountain side.

Three shots. Three bodies falling from the sky—black against the burning wreckage. He’d left them where they lay, broken wings and black feathers littering the stone.

There was a fourth. One he’d written off for dead. Not by his hand, but from the fall. The body still lay in a gouge in the stone. Torn black leather, silver spun hair stained with blood. One arm twisted unnaturally, trapped between stone and the falling body. In truth, Vincent had been surprised that there wasn’t _more_ damage.

In the end, that is what had tipped him off. After their dive from a similar height, the three clones hardly resembled anything human. This man should have shared the same fate.

An active barrier sparked under his touch, the magic breaking and throwing multi-colored shimmers along his claws. A strong enough barrier spell could reduce the impact of a sniper shot from fatal to merely serious, but never had he heard of magic preventing death from heights. How far had materia sciences come since his tenure as a Turk? Bodyguard. Assassin. Spy.

He shook off those thoughts, tugging the glove off of his gauntlet-less hand. Cold mountain air clashed against skin that as unused to the temperature. Years...it had been decades since that hand had touched air…

The thought stirred an uncomfortable feeling deep in his chest, so he let it drift away, carefully peeling away the ruined sleeve of the coat, exposing the vulnerable skin beneath.

Faint and slow. The shadow of a pulse fluttered against his fingertips.

Vincent pulled back, considering.

Magic or not…a normal man would not have survived.

Now that Vincent looked…the blood that covered the exposed skin was dry now. Not fresh. There weren’t any open wounds, even where the coat was torn in such a way to indicate sharp stones would have dug and torn even the thick leather, much less skin. Slight discoloration followed those tears.

Fading scars indicated injuries _weeks_ if not _months_ old. The bruises indicated they had happened less than a couple hours ago.

The crash.

That, combined with the unnatural constitution required to survive from such a height…

Kunsel had said they’d been waiting on someone.

Waiting…

Vincent lightly crept forward, hesitant to move the SOLDIER. All of his emergency training said internal injuries were very much a risk, and he did not have any meaningful medical knowledge. Stabilize with a Restore materia, _then_ move the victim to a safer location. That’s what his training told him.

But he didn’t have any materia. Not beyond the Odin summon Kunsel had returned days ago. Odin would not help him here.

Vincent could do nothing. Nothing but stand guard and watch. If Genesis’ clones had attacked that transport for a reason…

It was likely lying right in front of him.

_“Aside from the General, Zack is the strongest we have.”_

Was this the General they’d been waiting on?

He wished the summon beast were here, but he had left the summon to watch the reactor while he checked out the crash site.

The bird could deliver a message far faster than he could. He needed Kunsel and his healing materia.

…He needed to get back to the lookout. But he couldn’t just leave the SOLDIER out here alone.

SOLDIER… One of the end results of the project that had cursed Vincent. Strength. Speed. Regeneration. All things Hojo had… _tested_. Vincent knew his _own_ capabilities quite well, thanks to those…trials.

He wasn’t human anymore. Humans couldn’t get back up after what he’d gone through.

…Vincent hadn’t wanted to.

A SOLDIER was the closest thing to what he had become. This wasn’t an injured ShinRa executive on his hands. Or a civilian. It wasn’t even a fellow Turk.

He was a SOLDIER. He would survive a short move. Vincent had to throw out his outdated training, at least in this circumstance.

Carefully, Vincent maneuvered the tall man over his shoulder, paying close attention to every movement or hitched breath. There was nothing. Nothing to indicate pain.

No…response.

Vincent glanced over his shoulder at the unconscious man’s face. He could feel shallow breaths against his back, but this stillness…was unnatural.

It nagged him. The sleeping face. Familiar in a way that tugged at his memories, reminding him painfully of everything Hojo had torn from him.

Hojo had taken everything.

Everything…except his pain and his guilt.

x-x-x


	23. Broken

Broken edges.

Cloud stared down at the red disk, a stark contrast to the dark blue bedspread. The burnt cord backing lay discarded on the comforter, the weak strands easily removed from the main shard.

A chasm split the familiar disk, cutting into his thumb as he brushed it against the edges. It had once been bright, a tiny star caught in broken stone. The embers of a long dead fire.

No more.

_“A dragon saved you.”_

Tifa’s only response to his question, before she turned away and left with Kunsel and Zack. They needed a guide. Cloud could barely stand. She volunteered to do it.

_“You had the shard. It was you who called me. Noone else could have!”_

No. It had been a _dream._

Grey eyes, hard and piercing, yet kind.

An outstretched hand.

_“A dragon summoned the rain.”_

Cloud felt himself slipping, slipping back into fire and fear. But this time, the nightmare stopped.

A _dragon._

For a single moment, the flames froze. Mist began to gather, a sudden wash of cool water dusting Cloud’s face.

A coiled snake-like body hovered above him. Those storm grey eyes caught him.

_Help me…_

And the heat rushed back—the flames roaring in his ears. Talons curled around him.

_Mother—protect—_

Something cracked.

Everything’d faded, washed away from the horror of the fire, to a land of everlasting dreams.

Dreams, where the nightmare began again.

Cloud shuddered, hands a white-knuckled grip on the materia.

_“Let the nightmare end. Let Kohaku take you home.”_

“Cloud? Are you okay?” He opened his bleary eyes to find his mother poking her head around the doorframe, blonde strands falling into her face, which she tried to puff out of the way with a quick exhale of air. Not unconscious. Not dusted with soot. Not helpless before the flaming onslaught.

“I’m…” Words. He knew words. So why was this so hard? “…okay.”

“…you’re drifting, aren’t you?” After a moment she hurried to his side, brushing sweat soaked bangs aside. Her touch was cool. Real. “I’m worried, honey. I don’t want you to slip away again…”

The edges. They were almost painful. Cutting grooves into his palms. A dead stone. Dead. Dead.

_A tiny hand curled around a small red shard, holding it up to catch the light filtering down through the cavern opening. It sparkled. The remaining embers of a long dead fire rekindled within the small stone._

“I’ll…be fine.” Focus. It was hard. Kunsel had said it would be when he was alone. With nothing to focus on beyond his own thoughts. His mother wanted to stay with him. She was worried. But she couldn’t. She was in charge of the wounded, with Kunsel gone. “I promise.”

She studied him for a good long time, and then sighed. “Remember—you can always call me if you need anything. I’ll just be right downstairs.”

Cloud didn’t even notice as she left, turning the dead red shard over and over again.

x-x-x

The climb up the mountain was a long one, and a grueling one, if the pleasant burn in Zack’s muscles was anything to go by. It gave him a better appreciation for Tifa’s constitution—unenhanced, and she made the journey without any complaining. She walked ahead of Kunsel and Zack, focused on finding the correct path—and if her shoulders were a little stiff, and her frown tight…well…no one _liked_ the word confidential.

Which was a convenient way of saying “We _reeeeaally_ need your help but can’t tell you why exactly cause it’ll damage the company reputation…you know how it is.”

Yeah, people usually didn’t like that answer.

Zack didn’t blame them.

“So. Your summon can talk?”

He finally broke the silence, voicing the thought that had been on his mind since Kunsel’s little show this morning. He’d given his friend the space he knew he wanted, but Zack could only sit on something like this for so long.

Kunsel sighed.

“And after all I’d been telling you, too.” Zack grumbled, “You know all the trouble I went through with Yo—mine, and here I find you are some sort of summon whisperer.”

“I’ve been dealing with Loki long before you were a SOLDIER, Zack.” Kunsel responded with a snort, and Zack let himself roll with the gentle cuff aimed at his shoulder, “I hadn’t told _anyone_ about him. I did my research—no one had ever reported a summon speaking to them like Loki did. From what I can tell, he’s found some sort of loophole in whatever contract he signed, and that’s why. I don’t know if any of the others are _allowed_ to speak. Not that I’d even suspected there were others until you found yours.”

The world had been covered in a green haze, an armored figure passing judgment on his guardian for a crime Zack didn’t understand.

He’d _spoken_ then. Zack had heard the words—a language Zack hadn’t understood—but they had been _words._ He’d said his _name._

And…Zack knew his now.

“You’re taking this rather well, all things considered.” Kunsel was watching him. Zack shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk about the Great Cavern of Wonders yet. He brushed his fingers against the feathered motif of the bracer on his left wrist, feeling the ridges even through his gloves. “I’m more surprised about Cloud, to be honest. I’ve seen one other person who did that, and she’s…special.”

Zack remembered Cissnei’s words on that helicopter ride, even if he didn’t quite understand the implications of them.

Aerith was special.

“The Cetra?” Kunsel mused, and Zack gaped at his friend. Kunsel just shrugged off the incredulity. “Don’t look so surprised, Zack. I keep track of my friends and you haven’t really been discrete with your affections. She has a file in the secure databases.”

Databases that _most_ people didn’t have access to. Kunsel even had the nerve to look innocent when Zack gave him a flat stare. And then he pouted. It wasn’t fair. Kunsel knew _everything._

“Regardless, I don’t think he has the same ability. It would have been noticed during medical, and there’s no way ShinRa would place a Cetra in the position of a trooper.”

In other words, expendable.

That ruined Zack’s mood. Not that he’d been a particularly good mood in the first place. He’d been hoping to use the conversation as a way to distract himself from Sephiroth.

“Think it’s a result of the mako poisoning then?”

“Most likely.”

Zack nibbled on his lip thoughtfully. He already intended on getting Cloud looked at once they returned to Midgar (and he _was_ going to drag the boy to Midgar even if he had to argue down Heidegger himself.) Cloud deserved a break for psychological reasons alone. Zack couldn’t even _imagine_ seeing Gongaga going up in flames, and his hometown looked halfway to ruin as it was. Maybe he could just drag Cloud down to see Aerith. Even if she didn’t know anything about the talking-to-summons thing, she always knew exactly how to cheer Zack up, and he was sure she’d swoop in on Cloud as if he were a lost kitten.

“Kunsel!” Tifa’s voice from ahead. The Second Class shot Zack a helpless shrug and then quickened his pace to catch up with her. She was standing perilously close to the edge of the cliff, looking down over the edge and gesturing. Zack continued at his current speed, but his hearing easily picked up the words. “You said to keep an eye out for anything strange—the landscape looks different here. Some of the rocks seem to have been knocked loose—it almost looks like the aftermath of a rock slide, but those usually only happen with the spring rains, and the debris is cleared over the rest of the year. What _exactly_ are we looking for?”

Kunsel had tried to explain to Tifa—and her father and a few of the other townsfolk—that Zack was actually his _superior_ , but they would have none of it. They had a tendency to immediately turn to him rather than Zack. Zack was just fine with that. He hadn’t had much experience with command anyway. He’d mostly been on solo missions, or with one of the Elites, who might as well outrank him even if technically they were peers.

“A downed ShinRa transport.” Zack came up beside the other two, and he ignored Kunsel’s disapproving look. He honestly didn’t understand the point of the classification nonsense. Yeah, maybe it hadn’t been best to discuss _General Sephiroth_ going missing, but the plane crash? Tifa already knew Genesis was hiding out in the mountains. She would likely draw the same conclusion they had. “Could a crash have triggered a rock slide?”

Tifa considered, and then turned to eye the cliff face above the jumble mess of boulders heaped in the bottom of the ravine. “If happened to crash on an already weak section of the mountain, maybe. This area usually collapses in the spring, weakened by melting snow and rain but we had a light year this year…”

“It wasn’t like this when we visited the lookout site the other day—Zack? What are you doing?”

The SOLDIER First looked up, he’d crouched at the edge, judging the distance between his current perch and the closest landing spot he could see—a broken ledge a good ten feet from the bottom. The ravine was quite deep, even with all the debris at the bottom. “I’m gonna check it out real quick. If it was the transport there would be some sort of shrapnel visible, wouldn’t there?”

“You’re going to jump!?” Tifa’s eyes were wide with disbelief. Kunsel was shaking his head incredulously. Zack shot them a confident grin, “I’ve survived much higher drops, trust me.” Specifically from the upper plate into a certain church. And this time he would be ready for it. “You guys just wait up here; I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

He reached for the barrier materia slotted into his bracer, but before he could even start the cast he felt magic settle around him. He glanced up at Kunsel, bemused to find the Second Class already had a glowing materia out and was casting multiple spells in succession. Barrier. Regen. And even Haste. He wouldn’t have even _considered_ haste. It made him feel restless, making standing still a chore.

“Be careful, you crazy idiot.”

Zack grinned at him, turned back to the ravine, and jumped.

The ledge raced toward him, growing with each second. Zack twisted, ensuring his legs were under him, and adjusted them with Haste enhanced reflexes to absorb the impact. His legs _burned_ as his momentum was stopped abruptly, even as the barrier Kunsel had cast lessened the damage. It shattered at the impact into sparks of magic, but the regen worked along with the mako to smooth it away and repair the damage. He _was_ a SOLDIER First Class. He would have made it without the added spells. They just made it easier.

He cast his own barrier this time, not even taking the time to let it settle before he dropped from this ledge as well. The distance from this one to the top of the debris pile wasn’t anywhere near as high as the first drop. His barrier survived the impact, but it would dissolve shortly anyway. Zack immediately began searching the pile, moving as carefully as he could with the haste magic humming under his skin. Looking for anything that wasn’t just a giant rock. There were a disappointing amount of giant rocks.

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, Zack frowned and glanced up again, eying the oddly shaped slope on the cliff above where these stones had once sat. If something impacted there, and it caused the cliff to shatter…it would…

The wreck would fall first. And then be covered by the falling stones. It would be at the bottom of the pile, and would probably be carried along with it.

Zack jogged to the lower slope, even deeper into the ravine. He followed the trail of stones, the smaller and lighter ones having bounced and rolled a good distance from the initial collapse. He sincerely _hoped_ this hadn’t been caused by Sephiroth’s transport. He had a sinking suspicion even the SOLDIER Elite wouldn’t have survived both the impact, and then being crushed by tons of rock.

And then he saw it, chunks of metal, shredded by the falling rocks. Stones littered the corpse of the vehicle—and there was no way this was all of it. The majority of the body was probably buried in that giant pile back there, and these were the lighter pieces that had torn away and been carried by the momentum of the rock slide. Dread settled in his gut, remembering his suspicions. If Sephiroth’s—body—were here, it was likely they wouldn’t recover it. Not unless they called in an entire recovery crew. The pilot was probably under there to. SOLDIERs could survive high impacts. Zack scrambled for his PHS, his fingers felt numb. Everything felt numb as he tried to call Kunsel, searching for a dial tone through the static of the Nibel Range’s unreliable signal. He’d get it for a minute, and then gone. Text. Maybe he should text. Text usually worked even if calls wouldn’t. You only needed a few moments of signal for a text.

He was in the process of composing a message—how did he words? Sephiroth could be _dead.—_ when a shadow swooped above him, claws biting through his uniform shoulder as if it were nothing, digging into the skin of his shoulder where healed scars would be. The heavy weight threw him off, and Zack stared uncomprehendingly into the too intelligent green eyes of the bird that sat impatiently on his shoulder. It cawed at him, yanking _hard_ on his bang before taking flight again; winging back toward the way Zack had come. Down the ravine and back towards Kunsel and Tifa.

The summon!

At that moment Zack’s PHS pinged, the popup interrupting the message he’d been working on.

_Vincent found Sephiroth. He’s alive. Get back here and Loki will lead the way._

He stared up at the bird, who circled back to caw at him, annoyed. Zack just stood among the wreckage of a ShinRa Transport, and let the relief overwhelm him. He threw back his head and laughed. Laughed at himself. At the absurdity of the situation. He had been _worried._ Sephiroth would never let himself be killed in something so normal as a _plane_ _crash._

The bird screeched at him angrily, and Zack let the laughter trail away, wiping away the tears trailing down his face. He’d already lost Angeal. He didn’t want to lose Sephiroth too. At least no one had been here to see him. No one, other than the parakeet with a sour mood.

And then it hit him.

_How the heck am I supposed to climb back UP!?_

x-x-x

Whispers faded, the warmth and comfort of belonging faded, leaving him alone in the cold reality. Mako burned in his blood, and Sephiroth resisted the overwhelming urge to just crawl back into the safety of the dream. Into the embrace of his mother’s arms. It left him feeling hollow, bereft and alone in the way his subconscious retreats never had before.

It didn’t help that his first dregs of consciousness were mixed with the familiar fire of healing injuries. Major ones, from the intensity. Broken bone. Maybe more than one. Possible internal injuries, although the mako usually prioritized those first. He automatically searched for the concentrations of fire, locating one in his arm, and the strongest…he wanted to say it was a rib. An overall feeling of exhaustion and phantom pain told him there had once been _many_ other injuries, and the mako had burned much of his energy to heal those quickly. That usually meant he was _not_ in the safest of situations. The air was cool. Much cooler than it should be, and he was covered in some sort of rough cloth—not his usual leather coat at _all._

His sluggish mind—what was going on? He _never_ took this long to assess a situation—struggled to remember how he’d ended up in this situation. Screeching metal. The heat of the flames. Screaming wind and then…impact. The ridged and cool surface digging into his back was stone. He’d fallen from a crippled plane. Crossing the mountains.

Obviously he had survived the fall. And Genesis’s clones hadn’t finished him off. Judging by his lack of coat, and the covering draped over his bare chest, he’d either been found by someone, or was being held prisoner.

Did it benefit him to feign unconsciousness in either of those situations? Perhaps in the second case, but Genesis would have taken his materia bracers from him, and Sephiroth could still feel the metal against his unusually bare skin. He usually kept them hidden on his upper arm, inside his coat and hidden by his pauldrons. Genesis also would have kept him under constant watch, knowing that restraints would be useless against a SOLDIER of his strength. Sephiroth could not hear even the breathing of a second person, only the whistle of wind through stone—a pleasant song in comparison to the howling buffets that still rang through his memory.

Making a decision, Sephiroth opened his eyes. A stone ceiling greeted him. For one insane moment he almost thought he was back in the lab again. The first one. The one where he was born and raised, with the cavernous rooms and the crystal studded walls.

But no, the ceiling was far lower than those vaulted rooms, even if he accounted for his much shorter perspective at the time. In fact…the room was downright _tiny._ Gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs, Sephiroth used his good hand to push himself up; they would have healed enough to deal with moving, surely. His right arm had been set and was bound in a crude variation of a splint, grey wood and torn red fabric immobilizing the healing fracture. The fabric was obviously torn from the garment that pooled in his lap, sliding off his bare shoulders and exposing them to the chilly mountain air. A cloak, the buckles undone to allow it to wrap around his shoulders. A deep red. His mind immediately went to Genesis. But no, the fabric was rough and worn; nothing like the immaculate and high quality leathers Genesis preferred. His torn coat was a bundle of leather scraps against one of the far walls, his armor expertly deconstructed and placed beside the ruined garment.

Using his left hand, Sephiroth gathered up the cloak—happy to find his pants had escaped destruction, even if they had a few tears here and there—and draped it over his shoulders as a ward against the cold air, and at the same time covering the materia bracers. The fact that all his materia was accounted for definitely made Sephiroth feel better about the situation. He left the front unbuckled; not wanting to bother fiddling with them with his single usable hand.

The “room” was a small cave set into what appeared to be a cliff wall. Sephiroth couldn’t stand up straight in the shallow cave, and the crouching stoked the fire in his ribs. He unconsciously reached for his Restore materia, calling on a low-level healing spell to take the edge off the pain. It faded, but still made itself known from the burn working mako. Even the small spell sent a wave of exhaustion crashing down on him, but he just set his jaw and pushed through it anyway. Until the mako stopped feeding on his own energy, he would have to use it sparingly.

At last he made it to the mouth of the cave, using his good hand to steady himself against the wall. He could see the blue sky stretching out from the opening, a small ledge of stone running along outside before it met open air. Stone spires broke the horizon. The mountain range. It was overlooking a rather large valley. Sephiroth frowned, from what he remembered of the maps the Nibel Mountains weren’t prone to large open spaces, mostly narrow and twisted lanes that made travel, even by air, perilous. There was only one abnormally large chunk blaster out of the range, and ShinRa had claimed _that…_

Sephiroth turned, leaning against the wall as he followed a glint of metal out of the corner of his mind. The mako reactor rose up before his eyes, nestled in between the abnormally open space, a bastion of metal and technology looking out of place among the rock peaks. It looked like any other reactor, the only difference being how _remote_ this one was. They were normally built in or directly around cities.

“You shouldn’t be awake. You will strain your wounds.” The voice _startled_ him. _No one_ had startled Sephiroth in a _long_ time. Only an iron will kept him from reacting to it—the narrow ledge wouldn’t have been forgiving of even the slightest misstep. The voice came from above, and Sephiroth looked to see the black shape perched on a small shelf of stone against the mountain side. A man. Long, tangled black hair, held away from a pale face by a bandanna in the same shade as the cloak Sephiroth currently had over his shoulders. A sleeve of the black shirt was torn, gleaming gold metal shining in the sun. Some sort of armor ran down the man’s left arm, encircling the limb and ending in wicked looking metal claws. The claws were resting on a weapon that was currently lain across the man’s knees—a firearm. Sephiroth tensed—how had he missed that? But the man wasn’t watching him, even as he had been the one to speak. His attention was focused intently on the reactor crouching in the valley like an oversized metal spider.

“I am a SOLDIER.” Sephiroth responded flatly, itching to summon Masamune. His injured arm was, luckily, his off hand. But he held back that reflex. Everything pointed to this man being the one who had _found_ him and set his arm. He wouldn’t have done that if he intended to harm Sephiroth, “I heal quickly.”

The man snorted, for once glancing away from his vigil. Sephiroth caught the sight of intense red eyes, glowing faintly in the shadow of those unkempt bangs. Mako. A SOLDIER? But no, Sephiroth would have recognized the armor, if not the face. It was rather eye-catching . “You would have to in order to survive that fall. However, I know something of accelerated healing. Barring outside aid, it will still strain the body. Go back to the cave and rest. I have sent for your friends in the town below.”

 _Friends?_ _Town?_ Did he mean Nibelhiem? “How would you know who my friends are?”

“You are SOLDIER.” The man remarked with a small shrug, turning back to his post, “They are SOLDIER. Simple association.”

And then he fell silent, rising from his crouch, a gloved hand—the fingerless type favored by the Turks—curled around the base of the weapon. Sephiroth turned to follow the man’s attention, seeing a small dark shape rising from the black and yellow entrance to the reactor. In a split second, a shot deafened him, sending his ears ringing and the sound bouncing around the valley. The dark shape jerked in mid-air, and then plummeted to the ground. It joined a half dozen others littering the grey stone. When Sephiroth turned back to the man, he had resumed his early posture, weapon across his knees again.

“Genesis clones.” Sephiroth observed, he’d seen the black feathers falling free from the single wing. He shook his head in an attempt to banish the ringing, “You are not one of my SOLDIERs, why would you hunt them?”

Those red eyes turned to him again, “To remind the original that I am here. He attacked a town full of innocents, and I intend to see him atone for his sins. The SOLDIERs were waiting for reinforcements before initiating the raid. I assume that was to be you?”

Sephiroth grimaced, but nodded nonetheless. He had come with the intention of settling this…thing he had with Genesis, once and for all. In his current condition…

He would still fight of course. If Kunsel or Zack had an Elixir, while it wouldn’t heal his injuries, it would give him the strength to fight. Even if they didn’t…he’d been through worse in the initial legs of the Wutai campaign. Granted, back then he wouldn’t have been fighting _Genesis._ One of three people near his level. His two best friends…and a rebel girl, who asked him why he fought.

The man was watching him. Reading him. His expression didn’t change, so Sephiroth didn’t know what the man thought of what he saw. He turned away, “Return to the cave. It is a couple hours hike from the village to here. Take the time to rest and recover. You will need it for the raid.”

For once…Sephiroth listened.


	24. The Stuff of Nightmares

 

Zack watched the black shape cutting through the blue sky, rounding the curve in the mountainside before it was out of sight. The bird had led them this far and trilled something to Kunsel before taking off again. The SOLDIER hadn't made a move to follow, and indeed just sat down on a convenient stone outcropping, waving to both Zack and Tifa to take a break, "You might as well relax. There's no way all three of us would make it to the outpost—the trail isn't even fit for a green chocobo. Loki will bring Vincent down."

…but what about Sephiroth? The question rattled around Zack's skull, remembering the state he'd seen the transport in. SOLDIER or not, Zack worried about the physical wellbeing of his superior officer. Apparently that very question rattled so much it came pouring out of his mouth as well. Kunsel merely shook his head, "Vincent will send a note back if Sephiroth cannot be moved. For the moment, we need to consolidate and decide on what to do. If Sephiroth is too injured, we will likely have to ask the Turks for an evac."

They did have the helicopter still, parked outside the village gates. Zack shook his head. It wouldn't work. "If Genesis could do _that_ to a transport, the helicopter would be vulnerable."

Kunsel nodded, "With the three of us—four, sorry." Kunsel nodded to Tifa in acknowledgement as she cleared her throat. Zack couldn't help the uneasy smile, admiring the grace with which she'd begun to run through a few exercises as they waited. He could understand the need to just _move._ She _had_ mentioned she was an accomplished martial artist—his heart panged at the thought, _Angeal—"_ we could hold off a determined assault, but we would have to pull back to Cosmo Canyon at least, and Genesis would have ample opportunity to slip away. We would be back to square one as far as this…situation would go."

"And that…is unacceptable." The sudden voice had Zack snapping to attention before he could even process the words. He'd turned his back on the mountain, eyes focused on Kunsel as he'd spoken, but now. Now Zack found a tall figure in red, and Zack was hit by how _strange_ it looked, recognizing the garment as the cloak Vincent had been wearing when Zack met the man a few days ago. There was no sign of the brooding assassin now, however, just Sephiroth picking his way slowly down a near invisible trail along the mountain side. Not fit for green chocobos indeed.

Zack raced to the base of the cliff, now that he knew where he was looking, he could see the narrow path leading up, one of many that seemed to branch off into thin ledges that eventually petered off into open air. Except for one.

Sephiroth didn't _look_ injured. At least not too badly. He was moving slowly, gingerly, and his right arm seemed to dangle limply among the folds of the red cloak. His left hand trailed along the wall, and occasionally Sephiroth would wince and stop, leaning heavily against the wall until he could move again. Zack anxiously shifted from foot to foot, resisting the urge to sprint up the narrow path and help, reminding himself that there wouldn't be room for _two_ and he would probably cause more trouble than it was worth. Sephiroth had to have been conscious when Vincent found him—there was no way he had _carried_ Sephiroth up an incline like that. Weird not-a-SOLDIER-but-undeniably-mako eyes or no.

The moment Sephiroth descended onto solid ground, Zack swooped down on him, ducking under the taller man's good arm and slinging it over his shoulder. Sephiroth merely grunted and accepted the support, even as he did his best to avoid Zack's worried eyes and keep his face as impassively blank as he could.

It didn't fool Zack for a second.

Kunsel rose to his feet, a green orb glittering in his hand. Good ol' Kunsel, always quick with the spells. Zack could _feel_ the tension in Sephiroth's body ease as the faint green light settled over him. Restore or Regen. Zack couldn't tell which. Either would succeed in numbing the pain. But Sephiroth didn't push himself away from Zack's support even after that.

Instead, those sharp eyes—odd, Sephiroth's eyes had always been intense, shading anywhere between mako green and aqua depending on his mood, but today Zack found himself mesmerized—traveled from Zack to Kunsel, and even settled on Tifa for a moment. "There will be no withdrawal. Valentine will cover our approach. This matter will be settled today."

His tone was one that normally would book no argument. Zack even found himself itching to react as if accepting an order. Salute included. But still that voice nagged at him, and the weight on his shoulder…

"I have to object, sir." Who said that? Kunsel seemed as startled as Zack was by the comment. _No one_ second guessed Sephiroth when he spoke like that. It hadn't been Tifa, the voice had certainly been male.

Sephiroth tensed against Zack's side, and he pulled away, straightening painfully. Even knowing he was having trouble standing, he still exuded an aura of control. Of power. Reminding them that, injured or not, Sephiroth was still their commanding officer. Zack winced at the carefully blanked expression—masking pain, irritation, and who knows what else. Words forming a lump in his throat. Had that been _his_ voice? He'd been thinking it, but hadn't intended to _say_ anything.

"Well, SOLDIER? Spit it out."

As the full weight of attention settled on Zack's shoulders, he unconsciously fell back into the military habits that had been his life since he'd left his hometown years ago. Back straightened, arms at his side, head held high. It was almost difficult to maintain eye contact. "Respectfully…You are in no condition to fight, sir. Especially not against a first class enemy who equals your own ability. Even with backup-" He gestured to himself and the other two, "— _you_ are the one we know he is after."

"I have to agree, General." Kunsel was his buddy. Of course he would back him up on this. Kunsel was the smart one, he was the one who could look down every road and weigh the destinations. Zack only had the twisting feeling in his gut that told him that now was _not_ the time. "Genesis has a record of ignoring those he deems unworthy and going straight for his goal. Having you at a disadvantage is a risk we cannot take. We should regroup—not to the village, I wouldn't want to tempt Genesis into targeting again—but another day or two and we could ship in medical supplies from Cosmo Canyon. After I cast Restore, I used Scan—sir, you are staying on your feet through force of will _alone._ You need time to heal and to let your body recover from the act of healing before we think about going after Genesis. _"_

Sephiroth's attention left Zack as he considered the Second class' words. For a moment Zack saw Sephiroth's mask slip. Saw the exhaustion settle over those sharp features, shoulders slumping and his hand even began to tremble. He almost looked…human. And then it was gone, as if it had merely been a fleeting fancy. Sephiroth half turning, tilting his head as if listening. Zack frowned and followed the direction, toward the cliff Sephiroth had just come down. If he remembered correctly—that direction was the reactor.

"Your objections have been…noted." Sephiroth responded at last, turning back to the two SOLDIERs and one mountain girl, even if Tifa had decided to stay out of the conversation, "But I will not let this opportunity pass. Valentine informed me of Genesis's injury—while the degredation slows healing significantly, our window of opportunity will soon close. I will require any Elixirs you may have, and we will begin the approach toward the reactor as soon as possible."

Before Zack could protest again, Sephiroth made a sharp cutting motion with his hand, "That is an _order_ , SOLDIER."

His jaw snapped shut, and Zack hissed out a "Yes, sir" through gritted teeth. Kunsel merely sighed, accepting that the argument was over and out of his hands, and turned to Tifa, "How is long does it take to get to the reactor from here?"

"About an hour." The girl answered hesitantly, "Less if we cut through the caves, but…there are monsters in there—"

Zack ignored their conversation; instead he was digging through his inventory. Three small green vials, each no larger than his thumb. The last of his elixirs. Elixirs were powerful things, acting as both a potion and an Ether at once, flooding the body with energy, both physical and magic. They did not _heal_ physical wounds however. They could be dangerous to the injured, for if one fought without considering their wounds, they risked aggravating them further.

Sephiroth held out his hand for the vials—for once glove-less. He seemed so strange with that cloak around his shoulders. Zack hesitated. Sephiroth's jaw tightened, "I am aware of the risks, Fair. This is something I must do."

Reinforced glass—meant to withstand heavy impacts that were common in SOLDIER battles—clinked as they settled into the waiting palm. Glowing green liquid sloshed at the movement, leaving a filmy residue that slowly would trickle down the side of the glass. The situation, like the elixirs, was out of his hands now.

x-x-x

Cloud was flying. Soaring through the wisps of cloud that twisted around the highest peaks of the Nibel Range. He recognized it, even as he had never seen it from the air before. This was _home._ This godsforsaken mountain range on the edge of the world. Logically he knew it wasn't, he'd seen maps during training. The Nibel Range wasn't even on the edge of the continent. But for so long, crossing the mountains had been synonymous to death. That on the other side was where souls would go to rest. Tifa had tried to follow her mother once, and had almost ended up joining her.

Automatically, Cloud sought out the site, the old, worn bridge had been repaired after the incident, but conditions were tough out here, and it was not weathering the years well. It drew closer, Cloud descending in a slow, steady spiral. His feet settled on the stone, and Cloud was a child again, standing on the edge of the broken bridge. His heart raced as he lunged forward, leaning out over the chasm. There. He could see two specks at the bottom of the ravine. Tifa, beautiful strong willed Tifa, broken and limp. The other…

The other he knew to be himself.

 _She's dead…_ His heart mourned, even as his memories whispered that this had happened years ago, and they had _both_ survived the fall.

Looking at the scene now, he wasn't so sure he believed it. It was so _high_. How could anyone survive, much less two small children? Maybe he _was_ dead, and he was just a ghost, doomed to haunt the site of his death forever.

Something _roared_ , breaking through his misery. It was coming from the other side of the ravine. As a ghost, he had no need to fear the monsters of the mountains, but the instinctual flash of panic was still there. He jerked away, scrambling back to see someone else. A tall woman was backed against the edge on the other side of the broken bridge. Her dirty blonde hair glinted red in the setting sun—hadn't the mists of morning just been swirling around the mountains?—a huge…creature stalked her, a dragon in shape, once maybe, it had been one. Its scales shown a dull purple, and it almost appeared…misformed. Growths of flesh and scales peppered its body, giving a grotesque look, something immediately recoiled within Cloud, and he almost felt as if he wanted to vomit. Could ghosts vomit?

_It was wrong._

Something was off about the creature, and it wasn't just the appearance. Something…hummed at him, a lullaby, only it was a song that spread fear and nightmares rather than pleasant dreams.

The woman looked away from it, up, into the sky. Searching for something. Cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out words Cloud could not hear.

Claws flashed in the sun, blood red in the dying light. A warning tore itself from Cloud's throat, but it wasn't enough. She turned, just in time for the claws to rake into her side. She jerked back, one foot slipped over the edge.

And then there was a third body in the ravine, blood mixing with that of Tifa's and his own. Cloud floated down, inexplicable grief for the unnamed woman lodged in chest. The villagers would arrive soon, alerted by Tifa's friends, to retrieve Cloud and Tifa's bodies. Somehow they would survive, even if Tifa would be in a coma for some time, and Cloud would bear the brunt of the blame for the escapade.

No one would come for the woman. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He settled down amongst the blood stained rocks. Her figure was blurry in his vision, unshed tears proving unusually helpful in sparing him the image of her broken and mangled body. Something crunched underfoot as he stepped toward her, a shard of red stone lay amongst the blood.

_A tiny hand curled around a small red shard, holding it up to catch the light filtering down through the cavern opening. It sparkled. Embers rekindled within the small stone._

Many shards were scattered around the ravine. Some so small Cloud couldn't see them, others large enough to still hold a flicker of life.

Somewhere among the blood would be one that he would fit comfortably in his hand. And someday, rain or melting snow would wash it down the mountains, where it would be deposited in a small cave, one day to be stumbled upon by a small boy.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he looked up, meeting the sad grey eyes of a boy Cloud had never met, but who seemed unsettlingly familiar.

" _That is enough, Cloud. You have enough nightmares without throwing mine into the mix."_

The boy looked away, toward the fallen body. He seemed…pained.

The world seemed to shift. It was night now. It almost seemed as if Cloud were back in Junon. Concrete and metal and glass. An old woman sat on a step, staring out into the night, a shimmering purple band twisted between gnarled fingers.

This time, Cloud could hear her when she spoke.

"Kohaku…"

" _No…"_ The boy whispered, tearing himself away from the image. He turned his back on the old woman, pulling Cloud to his feet. " _I can't go to her, this time. It is too late"_

"Who were they?" Cloud found himself asking as the old woman faded. The bloody ravine didn't return. It was just him and the boy, standing in a field of hazy green.

The strange boy—Kohaku—was silent for a moment, _"They were people I loved. Those I sought to protect above all else."_

He stared into the distance, and then shook his head, focusing on Cloud instead, " _Come, it is time to return. At least you only wandered as far as my mind, this time."_

Cloud set his hand in the boy's outstretched one, not bothering with the questions. This wasn't the time. Not with those haunting images lingering over them both.

When Cloud woke, he found that he'd been clutching the materia shard so tightly while he slept that it left angry looking red marks against his palm.

Who was that boy?

Unsteady feet settled on the wooden floor. He left the bed an unmade mess behind him, only half conscious of the fact that his mother was just in the other room, speaking soothingly to one of the remaining burn patients, those whose wounds were too severe for magic alone to heal completely.. She didn't notice.

In bare feet and pajamas, Cloud Strife stumbled his way out of the mayor's home. Many people turned to him, one or two even stopped their work on the rebuilding to walk over to him. Their questions and concern died on their lips, and they let him pass, to make his unsteady way toward the rear of the town. The path into the mountains.

A fire burned in Cloud's eyes, an unnatural glow even brighter than those of the SOLDIERs. It made them appear almost impossibly blue. Streaks of white peppered his blonde spikes, invisible except in the strong sunlight. He seemed wrong, and the villagers let him go because of it.

 _The boy must be possessed_. One thought, shaking his head as he returned to his work, _Shame. He was a decent kid, even if he ran off to Midgar._

But he couldn't focus. He just kept seeing those unseeing eyes. The figure slowly climbing up the sloping path. Village myth stated the mountains were death. Years ago, the old and the sick would go up there to die, rather than be a burden for the then small town with limited resources. It was and old, outdated, and quite frankly, barbaric custom, but it felt…almost fitting for that one.

And…as strange as Cloud was, the man couldn't bear to think of that happening to a child. Or what it would do to Lucia Strife.

He sighed and laid down his tools. Abandoning his work once again. Only one person would be willing to go up into the mountains after Lucia's son. As much as it shamed him to admit, he wasn't that one.

_x-x-x_

Footsteps echoed against metal, sounding oddly deafening even after the chaos of the gunshots only minutes before. Sephiroth turn his head, glancing back at his train of SOLDIERs—and one civilian, but she'd stubbornly refused to stay behind, and Sephiroth didn't care enough to dissuade her. He was tired of keeping ShinRa's secrets—they were all on alert, and Zack was practically bouncing with nervous energy. They'd expected more…resistance once they got inside. There had to have been more clone guards than the dozen or so Vincent had shot down on their approach through the unprotected valley.

But so far…nothing. This was not like Genesis' MO at all. Where were the swarm of underlings? The mocking dialogues? Were they too late? Had Genesis slipped his watcher through some moment of inattention and left the clones as a decoy?

The reactor was deserted. Each step they took, took them further into the heart of the beast. This was too familiar. All reactors were built from the same blue print, and Sephiroth had visited the reactors surrounding Midgar for a variety of reasons. But even so…this almost felt like _home._

It wasn't so much in the surroundings, they were just as drab and dull and ShinRa industrial chic as every other reactor. But something in the air. In his blood. It seemed to…buzz with an anticipation that he'd first mistaken for nervousness.

Through the echoing corridors. Down the ladders—attacking while on ladders would have been a great ambush. The feeling didn't fade. Instead it seemed to grow. Tifa tensed as they crossed the aging metal catwalk over the reactor's inner reservoir, mako glowing brightly beneath them. Sephiroth almost felt humor watching her. She'd be staring pointedly ahead, but then her eyes would slip down slowly, drawn to the eerie glow, before she'd wince and look forward again. The glow from this much mako would be painful even to unenhanced eyes if she looked straight at it.

"Is this your first time seeing it? The mako, I mean." Zack asked her conversationally. He and Kunsel had been doing that periodically, following inane conversation topics to try and put the civilian at ease. Sephiroth didn't see the point. He rather wished she had just stayed behind. It would have been simpler.

"Y-yes." She was _trying_ to be strong. But the unease was plain to see in her tense posture, "I've been here several times, leading maintenance crews, but I've never been allowed _inside._ The mako fountains in the caves are _nothing_ like this."

They'd passed one on the way here, Sephiroth recalled, a cluster of misshapen multicolored crystals rising out of the center of a shallow pool of mako. In the center had been a perfectly round sphere, green in color, glowing with an inner fire and bursting with magic.

Materia.

 _Natural_ _materia._

Natural materia was expensive. Stronger than ShinRa manufactured ones, and capable of casting a set of related spells depending on its strength rather than a single one. Sephiroth didn't have pockets—they'd been destroyed with his coat—or empty slots, so Kunsel had taken the materia. Sephiroth wondered which materia it was, but only through advanced scientific testing or use it was hard to tell. They didn't have time to experiment.

Sephiroth had tuned out the conversation, and it finally died when they reached the heavy door on the other side of the bridge. The access panel was broken, but so was the door. It lay in a twisted heap on the inside of the portal, highlighted by the eerie green light that spilled through the opening from the reservoir outside.

Like the rest of the place, the emergency lighting still worked, even if it flickered occasionally. Sephiroth had to stop as he surveyed the room. This…this was different. He consulted his mental map of the structure; they _should_ be directly outside the core of the reactor. This was usually a service room, filled with monitoring equipment and pipes and valves to control the reactor's output levels. Looking around Sephiroth could spot the usual arrangement, but they were scattered, an afterthought that worked around the main attractions.

There were rows upon rows of man-sized pods nestled among the pipes. Most were open, their doors laying discarded on the metal scaffolding before them. The rows were arranged in stadium fashion, each split down the middle by a tall staircase that led up to a heavy metal door. The core.

And over the door was a plaque with a series of letters. His eyes traced them slowly, attention drawn inexplicably away from the more pressing matter of the empty pods.

J

E

N

O

V

A

JENOVA.

_Wasn't that his mother's name?_

He seemed _drawn_ toward that door, curiosity joined by an age old question. A child, long since dead, starved for affection, asking where his mother was.

No. He caught himself, bracing himself against the siren's song of _answers_. Genesis first. Even if he had been long gone, they had to figure out what he'd been doing here in the first place. The pods had been the first true variation in the reactor.

"Tifa. Stand watch on the lower entrance." The girl startled, and Sephiroth rolled his eyes. Civilians always seemed to react that way. Angeal had always told him to be easier on them; they were unaccustomed to taking orders. Luckily, the second class seemed to read the situation adequately and jumped in finish explaining, "Please. We need to examine the equipment, but we'd stand the risk of an ambush if we all did."

"What ambush? This place is deserted!"

"No, we just did not _see_ anyone." Kunsel corrected. "The first rule of entering a possible combat zone, Tifa, is to never assume anything. Never let your guard down, it is in the enemies' best interest to make you believe you are safe."

"Yeah!" Zack chimed in, "The approach was too easy. If I were the bad guy I'd hide most of my forces and then try a back attack while we were distracted—"

"Enough."Sephiroth was getting irritated. He could feel the echoes of pain building in his side again. It had been nearly two hours since he'd taken that first Elixir. "Do what you will, but you would be useless to the investigation." He turned away, ignoring her outraged sputter and Zack's attempts to placate her. Sephiroth ascended the stairs, each step jarring his ribs, stoking the mako burn. Awakening the old aches and pains. Why? Shouldn't it have lasted longer than this? He pulled out his second Elixir and downed it, the cool wash of the medicine breaking through the haze of pain and irritation.

Idiots. Civilians didn't know how to shut up and take orders. They were wasting time and personnel trying to explain things to her. He didn't turn around, but he could still hear Zack's voice. Wasting time. "Fair!" He barked, "Get to work."

Zack's squawk, and the sound of heavy boots on metal reassured him that his order was being followed, so he ignored the little nagging thought that maybe he should check out the inner room first. Just to make sure Genesis wasn't hiding in the core. It didn't have anything to do with the name over the door. Not at all.

No. The inner reactor core's doors required specialized key codes to access, or a very _noisy_ amount of brute strength. There was no way Genesis would be able to make a stealth attack from there.

He turned off the staircase onto one of the catwalks midway up, stepping around the discarded door to the pod, moving in close to examine the man-sized machinery. A small screen was cracked and dark, attached to the outer edges of the construct. Some sort of controller or monitor, perhaps. Sephiroth had seen something similar during his routine appointments in Professor Hojo's lab. They'd been alive with words, numbers, and charts at the time. The design of these specific pods were far older and more crude than ShinRa's current fare, which was understandable given the reactor was built fifty odd years ago.

Pods. Doors left abandoned. Odd colored patches of coloration on the catwalks before them. Something glinted from within, and Sephiroth reached, feeling the familiar prick of crystal against the pads of his fingers. The presence of tiny crystalline residue had Sephiroth narrowing his eyes, leaning in and making out the fine dark layer along the inside of the container. On a hunch, he crouched down—ignoring the phantom protests of his wounds at the motion—and checked the glass on the inner side of the viewing window.

It was easier to see here, exposed to the overhead lighting and not shrouded in the shadows of the main containment unit. A thin green film. Residual mako crystals.

These pods had been filled with mako. Suddenly the haphazard routing of the pipes in this room made sense. As did the tiered rows and the latticework of small, empty spaces in the metal catwalk. The discolored metal before the front-facing doors. Drainage.

But _why_ would liquid containers use _front-facing_ doors?

And…why were they empty now? They had been empty for some time, if their contents had completely drained away, but not long enough for the air to destroy the fragile mako crystals. He couldn't give a good estimate—he knew a minimal amount of mako science because of the SOLDIERs under his care, but he wasn't a member of the Science Department.

"Sephiroth!" The call jerked him out of his examination, and he lifted his head, searching out the waving form of the Third Class—Kunsel, was his name. He was in the far corner of the room, on the top tier. The pod he was standing beside _hadn't_ been opened, the door still sealed shut, a dim glow shining from behind frosted glass, "There's…something…still in this one."

_Something._

A monster perhaps? Or some sort of plant life? Had this place been used for experimental purposes? The application of test subjects would be easier with front-facing doors…

Such thoughts followed him as he made the trek up the stairs and the alluring plaque above the door. He found Zack tromping up the stairs behind him, a sullen Tifa lurking dissatisfied by the lower tier of platforms. She seemed torn between listening for once, or following her curiosity up the stairs.

And then all thoughts of her fled from his mind as Kunsel backed away and let Sephiroth and Zack stand before the viewing portal. The dust had been wiped away.

Unseeing _red_ glowing eyes stared out of a twisted face. He heard Zack gag faintly, and the tromp of boots on metal as the younger man took a few steps back. A _familiar_ face. Crystal clusters were forming on the skin, turning splotches of it a deep cerulean blue in color, smooth as shell, but ridged in places. Patches of hair on the man's scalp had fallen out, as had his beard. That which remained was a fine white, with similar crystals growing up from the brow and twisting into odd, horn like protrusions.

A _monster._

But he knew that face, twisted and contorted into an expression of intense pain and fear. Frozen into a silent scream. Forever and ever and ever.

_Hollander._

"Fitting, isn't it Sephiroth? That the maker of monsters becomes one himself?"

Sephiroth turned slowly, finding Zack standing guard along the narrow end of the catwalk, Kunsel tense and charging a spell discretely behind him. The girl was a crumpled heap, the only reason she wasn't on the ground was the tight grip of a torn, dirty red leather clad glove. Sephiroth's attention flicked momentarily to where she'd been standing before, a dark stain on one of the stasis pods, matching the blood seeping from beneath Tifa's dark hair. Genesis saw his glance and smirked, pulling her to her feet, letting her head roll dangerously, "I did not know you liked them so _young,_ old friend."

With his pure white hair, and the wrinkled and splotched skin, Genesis may have looked old, but his eyes were alive and burning with hate.

 


	25. Aggressive Negotiations

“Put the civilian down, Genesis.” Sephiroth’s words were soft, his uninjured hand held out to the side. He saw Genesis’ eyes focus on the empty hand. He would know what the gesture meant. The room might be small in comparison to the rest of the reactor, but there was plenty enough room for his weapon. “Your quarrel is with me. Not her.”

“Indeed it is, my friend.” Yet still, Genesis didn’t release Tifa, “But she is very much a part of this. She’s keeping your guard dogs at bay.”

That razor edged smile was directed at Zack, who had Angeal’s Buster Sword out of its harness and positioned in the scaffolding directly between the two SOLDIER Elites. Sephiroth could hear Zack’s frustrated growl at the words, but the SOLDIER didn’t make any other sounds.

A shield. Of course. That was another reason Sephiroth didn’t like civilians.

“Perhaps you should dismiss them, hm? So we can have a private chat? Just like old times?”

“No way in hell are we leaving you _alone_ with—”

But Zack’s words were strangled in his throat as the greying red-head effortlessly heaved Tifa’s limp body off the floor, holding it out over the edge of the stairs, “I would muzzle that puppy, if I were you. Angeal obviously never put him through obedience training.”

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about _Angeal—”_

“Zack.” Sephiroth’s voice stopped the younger man before he could do something stupid. And he was considering something stupid—Sephiroth didn’t need to read his mind to know that, “Give us some space. Go down to the entry-way.”

He may not _like_ civilians, but he wasn’t about to let his former friend bloody his hands any further. Not while he could stop it.

Sound behind him. Sephiroth glanced back to see the Second Class—Kunsel—stepping forward. Sephiroth moved to the side, allowing Kunsel to pass. He’d almost forgotten about the quiet SOLDIER, which had likely been the man’s intention. The brunet put his hand on Zack’s shoulder and nudged him forward, nodding toward the stairs.

Good. Hopefully Kunsel’s good sense would keep Zack’s impulsiveness in check.

Letting out an angry breath, Zack snapped the Buster Sword into his harness and stalked down the stairs, Genesis’s smirk chasing him the entire way. Kunsel kept himself between Zack and Genesis, not allowing Zack the opportunity to make a split second decision to race up and tackle the renegade. Given the way Zack kept throwing angry glares back up, it was a good precaution.

“Well?” Sephiroth said at last, letting his arm drop to his side, although he still itched to summon his weapon. Genesis still had that hostage, “Release her.”

“After, our chat.” Genesis smirked and hefted the unconscious girl over his shoulder—a position that did nothing for her modesty considering how _short_ her skirt was—and gestured toward the heavy door with a dramatic flourish, “Now, step into my office.”

The heavy metal door at the top of the steps. The door that called to him from across the years, those six letters burned into his mind.

A door that guarded the reactor’s core, that should have been secured with countless access codes and state of the art locks (for the time), was no match for a simple shove. The door toppled backward in a ringing screech of metal on metal, causing the catwalk to shudder beneath them.

The hinges and lock had been cut. Sheared with careful precision to have minimum gap between the door and the frame. Genesis must have propped it back up, to give it the illusion of being closed, and keep whatever within a surprise. He always did have a flare for the dramatic.

Sephiroth followed warily, uncertain what the renegade SOLDIER had tucked up the sleeve of that dirty, torn red coat. Genesis had always wanted one thing. To be the _best._ To surpass Sephiroth, whether it be through public perception, or pure strength. It usually resulted in them tearing up the training room. That wasn’t an option anymore.

Despite his mind racing through possibilities, and his nerves singing as he waited for the shoe to drop, Sephiroth instinctively scanned the new room, noting the size and contents—and froze, the nervous anticipation crashing against him like a wave, dashing him against the sharp rocks hidden beneath the surface.

He was barely conscious of the thump of Tifa’s body hitting the floor, dropped like a sack of refuse near the door.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Genesis’s purr, right behind him, when had he gotten behind him? His vision almost seemed to…sharpen, narrowing intently on the queen of metal and wire on her throne. The green light from the mako below them reflected eerily off the curves of her face, nestled in the wings of steel that spread from the center platform and over the mako vat below. “You stand in the presence of the _Goddess,_ Sephiroth. The Goddess of our Salvation.”

“Ours…?”

The word sound distant. Everything was distant. Disconnected. Everything but the angel. The angel was the center of his world.

And that…was wrong.

Just as Genesis’ companionable arm settling around his shoulder was _wrong._

But the alarms seemed muted. Unimportant. Genesis _was_ his old friend, wasn’t he?

“She’s been waiting. Imprisoned here, in this monument to ShinRa’s corruption. Exploited by _humans_ , just like you and I. Like _Angeal.”_

Dead by _whose_ orders?

By whose hand?

 **“She will free us from the chains that bind us.”** It was unmistakably Genesis speaking, but the words seemed to resonate within Sephiroth, echoed by a voice _just_ beyond his range of hearing. If he could just listen hard enough…what would he hear? “But first…we must free _her.”_

His good hand gripped metal. Even his broken arm was moving, reaching for her. The screaming fire in his veins faded. Pain was nothing more than a distant thought, swept away by a rush of certainty. This wasn’t wrong. It was _right._

The metal effigy screamed as he tore it free, cables and wires hanging from the mass at the ceiling. Some sort of oil line ruptured, brown tears running down the shining face.

He tossed the false idol to the side, into the reservoir of mako tens of feet below. Glowing red eyes caught and held him, and would _never_ let him go.

x-x-x

Metal crunched, deforming beneath his curled fist. Zack ignored the burn of mako as it worked to knit skin back together. He felt a little better after punching the wall, but…he shot a glance up the stair again, setting his jaw. “I’m sorry. I can’t _do_ this.”

Waiting. Genesis was _right there._

Other than the screech of tearing metal a few minutes ago, there hadn’t been any _sounds_ of battle…but… “I’m go—”

“Wait—”

Zack dodged Kunsel’s hand this time, taking the stairs two at a time as he made his way to the upper level. He didn’t quite make it half way before his boot hit something unexpected, throwing him off balance. A normal person would have tripped, but Zack automatically twisted, hands grabbing onto the open edge of the closest row of pods. He turned to glare at whatever got in his way, only to meet uncanny green eyes staring up at him from a furry face. It was some sort of cat-like creature, but Zack was _sure_ it hadn’t been there before. And what the heck would _anything_ living be doing inside a Mako Reactor?

The thing even had the _nerve_ to purr at him and just walk off as if it hadn’t just received a reinforced combat boot to the side. What the hell was it?

“A warning.”

The other SOLDIER had begun his way up the stairs after Zack, but he was stopped now. Stopped and staring at the weird cat thing that couldn’t actually be a cat. “Don’t tell me you can talk to _cats_ now too.”

That got rid of the distant look in Kunsel’s eyes, gaining him an eye-roll instead, “This isn’t a joke. They are just talking. But…Sephiroth is acting…”

The brush of fur against Zack’s leg, and an image overpowered the world surrounding him. The perspective was from the back and quite low to the ground—from the viewpoint of the cat, perhaps?—but Genesis’ tattered coat and Sephiroth’s long silver hair were immediately recognizable no matter the perspective. Genesis had one arm thrown over Sephiroth’s shoulder—how was he getting away with that—and clenched in that hand was…

_A materia._

Yellow Materia.

 _Command_ materia.

Glowing brightly with an activated spell. Sephiroth stepped forward, hands reaching forward, gripping some sort of metal construct before him. The materia kept glowing, even as contact broke.

The vision faded as the weird not-a-cat pulled back. Zack didn’t even think about it, he ran.

x-x-x

Genesis took a step back, slipping the Manipulate materia into his bracer. Sephiroth’s back was to him—completely blind to everything but the goddess in the center of the room—and he itched (oh how he itched) to slide his rapier into that red-cloth covered back. How _dare_ he imitate Genesis’ style? Not that it was doing him any favors. Capes were _archaic._ Sephiroth never _had_ any sense of style, in fact Genesis should probably congratulate him on wearing something _new_ for once.

But the song at the edge of his hearing was calming, pleased with the situation, so Genesis forced himself to find solace in the idea that he had ShinRa’s shining star enthralled in his grasp rather than enact his fantasies. It wasn’t that bad of a consolation prize as it was, the aloof silver general had _finally_ been caught, and of course _Genesis_ had been the one to bring him down.

He would happily ignore the fact that a Manipulate materia _shouldn’t_ cause such a drastic change to a human being. That every test he’d ever performed would only result in a momentary state of confusion. That he’d listened to the little nagging thought that just a moment would be _enough._

Enough for what? What could the Goddess want with _Sephiroth_ that Genesis couldn’t offer her? _He’d_ found her first.

The poisonous hatred began to creep forward again. Of _course_ Sephiroth would be _special._ Why had he expected anything different?

Distant laughter, the brush of an angel against his soul. Genesis found his eyes tearing away from Sephiroth’s back, and toward magnetic red eyes. The twisted, materia encrusted specimen faded away, Genesis’ eyes looking past the body scarred by time and science, and seeing the Goddess of beauty and power within. Loveless embodied. _Perfection._

 _And s_ he smiled at _him—not Sephiroth—him._

They weren’t _words_. Genesis couldn’t hear them. But he could _feel_ them smoothing off the bite of his hatred and jealousy. Smoothing, but not stifling. No. His Goddess understood him. Hatred would _never_ go away. Just…redirected. There was no reason to act on his hatred for Sephiroth, not when he could be so useful. Just like Hollander could still be useful despite his betrayals. Before he had needed SOLDIERs to make clones. Now he just needed bodies. Hollander had even provided him with a perfect test subject.

 _Angeal was wrong. We are not the monsters._ Genesis decided, listening for the faint snatches of song he could barely hear. The song he’d fallen asleep to since arriving in this remote facility, soothing away the pain of his failing body and stoking the fire of his hatred. The one that Sephiroth was now learning to recognize. Soon his heart would also beat to its rhythm. _They are the monsters. Every one of them. They who created us…_

Boots on metal. The wild crackle of activated magic. Something heavy thudded behind him, a yelp cutting through the silence. Genesis felt his lips curl into a cruel smile, turning his back on the SOLDIER Elite and facing the door. The spell Genesis cast automatically sparked in the entry way, the translucent barrier flaring in response to the deflected impact.

_…and those who let them do it._

Angeal’s puppy—Angeal’s _killer_ —reeled back, dazed. Angeal’s prized toothpick drawn and pointed at the floor. His arms were shaking from the recoil.

“A back attack? What happened to Angeal’s precious _honor?”_

The question came out more venomous than Genesis intended, but he saw the boy flinch. He smirked and stretched his aching wing, ignoring the pain radiating from his shoulder.

“What did you do to Sephiroth?”

The puppy found his voice. Appropriately outraged. Although how he knew about _that_ Genesis didn’t know. He knew the boy wouldn’t have been close enough to see. There was no way he’d be able to keep quiet and only say something _now._

 _“_ Do? Nothing. I merely introduced him to his mother.” Confusion. Genesis reveled in it. Here was something he was allowed to hate. “Do let them have their moment, it has been _so_ _long.”_

His rapier was a familiar weight in his hand, and it hungered for blood.

After all, a dog who turned on their master was one that deserved to be put down.

x-x-x

The magic snapped into place just in time. Kunsel let out his strangled breath as the gathered force of the fireball crashed against his wall spell. He’d barely been able to get in range before Genesis released his attack, sending Zack flying through the portal in a gout of fire and smoke. Cycling through his spells in his mind, Kunsel cast another handful of support spells in quick succession, anchoring them all on Zack since he had no desire to be anywhere near the center of this battle. Genesis had a tendency to focus on the strongest target, and whatever he’d done to Sephiroth—obviously that target was now Zack.

Barrier sparked and shattered as it absorbed the landing, Zack shot him a grateful look from where he’d crashed into the side of one of the metal pods that filled the room. He didn’t have time for much more than that. Zack had to spring away or risk the follow up shot as Genesis stepped out of the inner room, drawn rapier in one hand, the other still outstretched and sparking with magic.

 _Why use magic at that close of a range?_ It nagged at him, while Genesis was considered the most skilled materia user, he wasn’t a slouch with that rapier either. _Why_ would he risk the back lash when he had his rapier already drawn?

Zack landed on the stairs and ran, Kunsel’s Reflect shining briefly before it turned aside a third stream of flames, breaking against the metal ceiling in a roaring shower of sparks. Genesis sniffed in disgust and waved his hand, the barely-visible bubble of shimmering magic surrounding Zack shattering into glowing motes of light. _Dispel,_ Kunsel realized with annoyance. Luckily it only removed the last spell cast, which was why Kunsel had saved reflect for end of the chain. It was the most visible.

Crimson rapier moved instinctually to block the attack, but then Genesis flinched back, ice spires erupting into the space between him and the oncoming SOLDIER, timed just enough to catch the Buster Sword’s bulk between two giant spears of ice. Zack grunted and yanked the sword free—a low level fire spell curling in his hand to melt the edges. But that took too long. He’d been standing still. A crackle of building energy—Kunsel threw out a second Reflect before the Thunder hit, the bolt ricocheted off the protective magic, splintering into much smaller bolts that shot around the room. Kunsel was even forced to duck into the interior of one of the opened pods to dodge a bolt that had been coming his way. It crashed against the exterior, sending the metal humming dangerously—but as he’d thought they were insulated, and the electricity did little more than that. Delicate experiments would have to be protected from surges.

 _Range. He’s staying at range._ Kunsel thought furiously, _He wanted to block, but didn’t._

 ** _“He’s injured, if you must know.”_** Loki’s purr sounded distant. And pleased. **_“It appears the vampire’s mark hasn’t quite healed.”_**

 _Don’t tell me! Tell Zack._ Kunsel shot back, somewhat irritated at the summon. He could be out there helping, but he knew Loki. Unless Kunsel was in immediate danger he would be more likely to just find a nice quite spot to watch the proceedings. He found it entertaining.

 ** _Hmph. As if I want to touch his mind again._** The sniff of dismissal was expected. Honestly it was surprising Loki had even bothered the first time. But unless Kunsel wanted to purposefully throw himself into danger, the summon wouldn’t even lift a claw to help.

Even if it would force Loki’s hand, that wasn’t Kunsel’s style. He couldn’t go toe to toe with _Zack._ Much less one of the Elites. However he could _support_ Zack—make his way to the upper room. Find Sephiroth. Snap him out of whatever Genesis had done. A yellow materia without a visible effect. Some sort of status based Enemy Skill? Manipulate? Most of the Command materia he knew needed to be paired with an attack or action of some kind.

And Tifa. He had to ensure she was alright. He wanted to kick himself for that. He’d been the one lecturing her on staying alert, yet they’d all been too enthralled by Hollander’s fate to notice her plight.

 _When this is over, I need to apologize._ He told himself, listening as the crashes from more bursts of magic shook the metal he was using for cover. He rooted through his inventory, going through the materia he had available in search of something useful. He’d been equipped for monster hunting, not dealing with renegade SOLDIER Elites. Zack had the strength to go against Genesis, especially injured, but that didn’t mean much when he couldn’t get _near_ him.

Close… Kunsel ‘s hand hovered over the glowing green sphere of a Time materia. Stop and Slow had seemed to slide right off the renegade during his attack on the town, so Genesis either had an added effect slotted into his armor, or he’d stolen more than ShinRa had admitted from Weapons Development.

 _Items to guard against status effects…better to just assume that’s the case._ Kunsel decided, tucking the Time and various other green orbs back into his inventory. Except…he rolled an innocent looking green globe between his fingers. He hardly found a use for this particular one but…

They didn’t necessarily have to stop Genesis. Just get _Zack_ close. The SOLDIER was already hasted, and Genesis’ reactions were _fast…_ but…

A plan forming in his mind, Kunsel switched out two of his materia. He could cast them without slotting, but this would sheer off some of the lag. This would take some split second timing.

x-x-x

_Ping._

Zack attempted to peak out from where he’d hunkered down using one of the pods for cover. The way the room was set up the only real ways to Genesis were either up the stairs—which was the most obvious and trying it would only bring another fireball down on his head—or by climbing the pods to try and flank the enemy’s position, and without a distraction he would end up with a side of crispy fried Zack. Damn this was such a bad place to fight. He needed a partner—sure Kunsel was great and all, and not having to worry about recasting all his support spells whenever Genesis decided to dispel them left Zack able to pay more attention to actually dodging things—but nothing beat being able to split the enemy’s attention with an extra body that could either take the hit or just barely dodge it. Kunsel was _not_ suited for that.

Like Sephiroth. Or—

_Ping!_

That wasn’t just something hitting his cover.

_Ping!_

Zack dug through his harness, pulling out his PHS. Signal shouldn’t wo—oh. Right. Short wave text messages. They all said the same thing.

_Do you have any Maiden’s Kiss?_

Of course he did. No one from Gongaga went _anywhere_ without one of the native pink flowers. It was far too embarrassing to have to _hop_ home and then the _teasing…_

Regardless, it was a habit he hadn’t seen fit to break. Why was Kunsel asking about that?

_Ping!_

_Hold onto it._

_Ping!_

_Rush the stairs._

_Ping!_

_Trust me._

Zack eyed the chain of text messages, and then peeked around the edge of the pod, studying Genesis entrenched in his fortifications of magical ice.

“Giving up already? Is that how little you value the girl’s life?”

Anger flared, but instead of following it, he snapped the Buster Sword into its harness—it would slow him down—and pulled out the tiny pink flower. He hoped Kunsel knew what he was doing.

Halfway up the stairs he saw Genesis smirk. Saw the lightning cackling in one hand, and the red lines of power drawing themselves across the porous metal space. The stairs. The pods— _everything_ between Genesis and the door. It wasn’t a spell Zack had seen before, but the hum in the air was one of magic and power that had his hair standing on end.

Whatever it was…Zack was right in the middle of it. It was too late to have second thoughts now.

Magic washed over him. The world exploded in a rush of head spinning color. Zack barely had a moment to notice that the glowing lines were suddenly _much_ closer than before, and to recognize the skin crawling sensation that he’d grown up hating in the jungle surrounding Gongaga.

And then the winds came, blasting and howling, spinning the ground down and away. Zack squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the suddenly larger flower to his chest, shielding it from the wind threatening to tear it from between webbed fingers.

 _I’m going to get Kunsel for this._ Zack-the-frog thought miserably as his much lighter body was hurled through the air, buoyed by a raging gale of winds—Aero? There weren’t many wind spells. And then there was a third spell. A forth.

Zack couldn’t even keep track of them anymore.

x-x-x

Kunsel dove back into the safety afforded by the pod as soon as he saw the tiny shape soar over the edge of the magic circle, arcing over and beyond the red-coated renegade. Out of danger, Kunsel hoped, he’d used a sequence of high level spells in order to disguise what he was doing and it was taking its toll on him. The red energy sparked. The world held its breath.

And everything within the magic circle exploded into columns of red lightning, the sheer amount of energy and magic sending a literal shockwave through the entire room. Mako crystals scratched his unprotected face as he was tossed against the side of the pod, leaving burning irritation in their wake.

Apocalypse. As one who studied and worked with magic often, Kunsel had run across mentions of Genesis’ limit break. That much condensed magic in one place…

 _And he wanted to use_ that _on the town._

Oh yes, Kunsel recognized the magic circle. He recognized the feeling of terror and foreboding that he’d felt as the red energy began to etch itself into the ground, and it had only been impeccable aim on Vincent’s end that had kept Genesis from completely wiping the town off the map.

A mako reactor was built to contain energy. It would survive what wooden and stone buildings would not.

…that didn’t mean it was a pleasant experience.

By the time the world stopped shaking Kunsel was woozily propping himself up against a protrusion in the inside of the pod, using it to try and convince his legs that yes, the ground was finally stationary and would remain that way for the foreseeable future. He really did have to thank ShinRa’s corruption this time—while health and safety inspections were regularly shirked, the Science Department always did get the best toys, ones that would stand up to everything but perhaps a full on reactor meltdown.

If Zack had kept his head he should be finding a quiet spot to take the remedy, out of Genesis’ sight. Kunsel had aimed the Aero spell over Genesis’ head, toward the door.

The crunch of heavy boots against metal. Kunsel froze. Genesis would gladly ignore a mere Second class so long as he had a more appropriate target.

Kunsel had just caused him to lose his target.

“You, have been _annoying.”_

Kunsel’s hand shot to his broadsword and he lunged for the open space. The pod was great for weathering a magical bombardment, but it was a death trap at close range—

Spears of ice beat him to it, a line of thick magically reinforced ice formed right in front of the open door, trapping him inside. He started charging a fire spell as he studied the size of the ice—level 3 at least, and adjusting the spell accordingly. So many spells cast so soon after another. If he immediately blasted out, Genesis would just pick him off. If he waited for him to gloat—and Genesis _would_ want to gloat—then he might be able to use the advantage of surprise to make a dash for it.

Through the semi-translucent ice, Kunsel could see the distorted red shape getting closer, stalking along the narrow catwalk.

“You don’t know how long it took me to _save_ that magic.” The renegade hissed, “and you go and _waste_ it. _For the second time._ With Sephiroth…dealt with, Fair was the only one standing in my way. He’s a reckless, righteous idiot. He charged _right into it._ And then _you_ did something, and now my trap is empty.”

Then he stopped, just to the side of the iced over opening. _Just_ out of the range Kunsel had been hoping for.

“I don’t know _what_ you did. I don’t _care_ what you did. You are a bug to me…but even a bug can find itself squished when the boot notices it.”

“I don’t have the magic to waste on you.” Genesis sneered and turned away, his hand shooting out and hitting something on the side. The machinery around Kunsel hummed. _The Control Panel._ “At least you’ll make a decent clone.”

…this was originally a mako container.

Kunsel released the magic to shatter the ice, neon green liquid spilled through openings in the top and side of the man-sized pod. Kunsel made a dash through the opening, only to be thrown back inside by the waiting Genesis.

“I told you—“

The throw sent him directly under one of the overhead jets. It burned. It froze. Kunsel felt his strength being sapped, could almost hear something—

“ ** _Oh you_ idiot.”**

Genesis was cut off mid-monologue, the ice blasted away. Strong arms grabbed Kunsel and dragged him out, green. Green and gold and black hair. Kunsel should know this…

“ ** _Must I do everything…? At least I didn’t have to babysit the vampire.”_**

Kunsel was tossed to the side. Away from the mako gushing out of the broken container. Away from Genesis. Kunsel could see someone standing in front of him, seeming unconcerned by the mako pooling around his feet, clinging to leather boots. Of course he wouldn’t care.

“ ** _I’m afraid I can’t let you die quite yet, Kunsel. Do me a favor and_ try _to stay sane until the vampire arrives. In fact…”_**

Magic settled over him, heavy and foreign. He felt himself slipping. Everything was distant. Trivial. The passive dull headache from being near so much mako was fading with the roar and chill of the more immediate problem of mako clinging to his face and neck and soaking into his uniform. Even Loki’s voice sounded as if it were miles away, a whisper on the wind. He tried to lift his hand to wipe the chill from his face. It wouldn’t be a good idea to leave it. So why wasn’t he moving?

“ ** _Better. Now where was I…”_**

A sleep too deep for even dreams claimed him and Kunsel knew no more.


	26. Et tu Seph

Outside of the hammers ringing inside her skull, it was quiet for a moment. Tifa strained to listen—was it safe to open her eyes? She’d regained consciousness to the very floor shaking, loud crashes and…something else. Something that reminded her of the time she’d gone with Master Zangan to train in one of the midsummer storms, and lightning struck a peak not even ten feet away.

 _You must learn to respect the powers that are IN this world,_ Master Zangan had told her, _before you can find that power in yourself._

She wasn’t sure she’d want to know what would remind her of that feeling of stark terror and helplessness as the world whited out for a single moment—a moment that kept her blinking at phantom spots for a time after--but if she was one to let fear rule her life, she would have never defied her father and become a Guide. Very few villagers ever set foot on the mountain side of Nibelhiem.

Silence. She dared to peek, not moving from the position she’d woken up in, slumped against something cold and metal—oh _why_ had she decided that it would be a good day to wear a skirt? The floor was _cold_ and some sort of ridges were digging into her skin—the dull grey surroundings of the reactor were overlaid by a bright neon green, and Tifa gulped when she saw the source. The ridges weren’t ridges at all, but a network of holes drilled into the metal catwalk, just like the ones in the other room, meant for drainage in case of spills, but through those holes she could see a very _very_ long drop into a _vat_ of glowing liquid. To be fair, it was much smaller than the main reservoir outside…but she hadn’t been staring _straight down_ at that one.

Tifa closed her eyes against the nausea, height sickness compounding with her existing headache. Slowly, oh so slowly, she rolled onto her side, inch by careful inch, waiting for the moment when the leather gloved vice grip would descend upon her again. She couldn’t remember much about the last time. She’d drifted away from the door, toward the stairs, because a commotion had caught her attention. The three SOLDIERs were clustered around one of the few closed containers in the room…and then…

Unbelievable strength had captured her arm. She reacted immediately—one of the first things Master Zangan had taught her was how to break holds—but her kick was side-stepped, her attacker moving easily with her twist intended to break his grip. Carelessly twisting her arm, grabbing her shoulder…

And then...she couldn’t remember. Her head was _still_ pounding.

…that wasn’t her head. The metal beneath her cheek vibrated; something heavy suddenly settling on the platform. Something _looming_ above her _—_

She didn’t think, her leg shot out and _twisted,_ it was hard to get enough leverage on the ground, but she knew exactly what she needed to move and brace to find the force. She _refused_ to be captured again. A muffled curse and a heavy thud, Tifa was on her feet, eyes open and guard up—

The world spun, dizziness assaulting her from the sudden change in perspective and the protests of her aching head. A hand went to feel for any suspicious lumps, only to come away wet with red blood. She stared at it for a moment— _how hard had he hit me?—_ before turning to her attacker.

Only to find _Zack_ crumpled and groaning on the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m _sorry.”_ But wait, if Zack was here—there. Inspecting something at the center of the room. Silver and red. Sephiroth. She felt relief wash over her. They must have defeated the renegade. That would explain the explosions earlier. “Are you okay—”

Zack didn’t respond, waving his hand sharply to cut her off. Momentarily confused, she snapped her jaw shut, following Zack’s attention as he gingerly picked himself up, glancing toward his superior. Was he embarrassed? Zack didn’t look flushed. In fact, he seemed oddly green in the face.

“Damn you can hit.” The SOLDIER grumbled, favoring the leg where her sweep had impacted as he picked himself up. His words were deliberately low, but that was definitely _not_ the tone of hurt pride.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hopefully nothing.” Zack responded, “But I don’t want to draw Genesis’ attention until I find out.”

She nodded, holding still as he cast a light healing spell on her head—she _needed_ to get a hold of one of those materia, somehow—and the pain receded, although she still felt woozy. That was worrisome, she decided, for once not protesting as Zack motioned her to stay put near the door. Normally she would have insisted on following, but she was worried about her reaction time, and didn’t want to be out there in the _center_ of the reservoir if something went wrong.

Besides, he was just going to go talk to Sephiroth. Zack strode toward the tall, silver-haired statue in the center of the room. She watched, fascinated, as the young SOLDIER’s demeanor changed before her very eyes, the tension and wariness easing from his body so that he seemed just as he had on the hike here, alert, but still friendly and open.

“We’ve rescued the hostage, sir.” Zack announced once he’d crossed the room, planting himself in an oddly stiff posture that Tifa figured _had_ to be military. It looked too practiced, and Zack looked quite comfortable with it, “Genesis is in the other room—with your permission I will withdraw and reinforce Kunsel.”

He waited, the silence stretching on. Only…it wasn’t silence anymore. The sounds of battle had started up again in the other room, an explosion sending the metal shivering from the vibration. So Kunsel was keeping Genesis busy. Wasn’t Zack the First Class? Wouldn’t he be better for the job?

Still nothing from the silver-haired SOLDIER. Zack broke his stance and stepped forward, “ _Sir…”_

And then for no reason, he tensed, vanishing and reappearing at the other end of the room so fast that Tifa had barely even seen him move. He was staring down the length of a six foot long blade—when had Sephiroth _moved?_ Where had that weapon come from?

“You are not as stupid as you act, Fair. Surely you’ve figured it out.”

“Seph…”Zack had _known._ He’d been expecting the attack? “ _Why?_ We came here to _stop_ him! _”_

 _“ShinRa_ sent us to stop him.” The unconcern chilled Tifa to the bone. She may not have known Sephiroth long, and he didn’t talk much, but the…dead quality to his voice was unsettling. He seemed to be a quiet man, but not a cruel one. “Why should I do anything more for them after what they have done to me and mine?”

“He _slaughtered_ half a town of innocents Sephiroth!” Zack shot back, “For no reason other than to _send a message._ Nothing excuses that!”

“Innocents?” Sephiroth snorted, “They are _human,_ inheriting all the crimes your pathetic little race have committed over the millennia. Genesis is only seeking _justice.”_

 _“Justice?!”_ Zack responded incredulously, “Yeah, what Hollander did to him and Angeal was terrible, and if the snake was alive I’d want to roast him as much as you guys, but those people had _nothing to do with it!”_

“You _dare_ say Angeal’s name.” Sephiroth’s voice was hissing now, “You who betrayed him and struck him down. You who robbed him of the chance to find his true _purpose_ like Genesis had. Like _I_ have. No Zack, you will _never_ understand.”

That last line hung in the air with a sense of finality. A death kneel as any chance of a peaceful resolution died.

“There is no other way then, is there?” Zack’s sword was in his hands now.

“None, Traitor.” Sephiroth adjusted his stance, holding that long sword at shoulder height.

The air crackled between them like the storm holding its breath, right before the thunder would crash and the heavens would split, releasing a torrent of rain into the mountains, turning the deep ravines once more into the roaring rivers they had been of old…

And suddenly, everything _stopped_. A blue mist was creeping into the room. Tifa tried to reach for it, but found she couldn’t _move._

“Tifa!” Zack’s shout drew her attention; she couldn’t see him anymore amidst the thickening mists. It was the only sound echoing in the room, even the sounds of battle were gone, “As soon as you can move—go get Kunsel! Drag him out of here if you have to! Get back to the town, find the Captain, and prepare everyone for evacuation!”

  1. But where would they _go?_ Nibelhiem was their _home._



She wasn’t allowed to think about it as a sudden wind blew through the room, her legs suddenly working again. She stumbled forward, catching a glance of a third tall form standing next to Zack, but she remembered her job.

She ran.

x-x-x

Youko opened his eyes as he felt the magic settle. He could _feel_ Zack’s magic. Could feel _Zack._ His summoner was a tangled knot of pain and betrayal in the back of his mind—a storm of emotion so painful, it left only a feeling of numb resignation. Yes, Youko knew it well. He’d been living in such a haze for days now, counting down until he would need to tell his mother the truth.

But his demonic traits were at the forefront now, buffering him from the ache of his human heart, and the demon knew a battle when he saw one.

The opponent was familiar. They’d battled once, an explosion of magic and youki and speed and strength, tearing up a simulated wasteland. They’d shared a look of fond exasperation when Zack pushed himself too far, collapsing from magical exhaustion. There’d been mutual respect there.

But now, this man’s eyes were filled with hate. That wicked sword was pointed at them, not to test, not to spar, but to _kill._ This was no simulation.

“Youko Kurama…” Zack’s voice was quiet, the use of his name sending a shiver of magic through this constructed body, and he could feel the contract settling in his soul, where before he’d hardly noticed. “I’m…sorry. But…I can’t take Sephiroth alone.”

There was grief there, an old wound, healing, but suddenly and painfully ripped open. Youko understood.

He’d been with Zack when he had to kill his mentor. He’d grown since then, and now life had asked him to kill someone else he respected, someone he considered a friend.

Youko knew he couldn’t say anything, so he settled for a clawed hand on Zack’s shoulder. The young man looked up at him, and then away, his stance tightening with resolve even as some of the tension bled from his shoulder

“Touching.” Sephiroth sounded bored. But something sounded _off_ to Youko, a resonance behind the word, as if a second voice spoke in time with his. _Strange_.

But Sephiroth had felt off before. Different from Zack.

Youko sensed the intent before the motion, and leaped, ignoring the fact that there was nowhere to land other than the narrow metal bridge, only wide enough for two people, shoulder to shoulder. He grabbed a handful of seeds mid-leap, hearty ones that thrived in the very core of the Makai’s corruption, and scattered them into the green goop beneath him. If he was right—and that stuff _felt_ like the magic used in his summoning, only denser—then the seeds would drink the magic greedily and grow.

Giant mushroom stalks burst from the liquid, roaring from tiny seed to maturity in the amount of time it took for him to fall from the peak of his jump, to the green and white spotted cap of the nearest one. The other seed he’d palmed was in his hand another second later, roaring out into a whip of red-tipped green, lashing out and hungering for blood.

It caught steel, and Youko braced himself against the mushroom cap, yanking sharply on Sephiroth’s large sword as it sliced through the air toward Zack. The unexpected motion broke the man’s grip, the blade soaring into the air before it shattered into motes of light, leaving the vine-whip empty.

He caught the blazing glare the silver-haired man was throwing at him, and Youko couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t tried that last time.

Then again, last time Sephiroth hadn’t _really_ been trying to kill his charge.

“Hmph.” Sephiroth abruptly turned away, holding his hand out. A flash of light and the sword materialized again, settling into his palm as if it never left. “No matter. I _know_ where the weak link is.”

And he _ignored_ Youko, rushing toward Zack again, as if Youko was no more than a fly.

Arrogant. And proving that something _drastic_ had changed about the man. He should know better than to turn his back on Youko Kurama.

Before Youko could gather his whip to catch it again, Zack caught the blow on that monster sword of his, the screech of metal against metal had Youko’s ears flattening in pain. His arms shivering from the impact, Zack shoved while he side stepped, hooking the tip of Sephiroth’s nodachi into the thin gaps in the safety rail before taking a cue from Youko and leaping off the limited bridge space. The length would make it awkward to maneuver out quickly, although he could always resummon it again.

“Mushrooms?” Zack muttered, toeing the spongy material beneath them as he landed beside the fox. Youko shrugged. It worked hadn’t it? His toss had left them dotting the area, at varying heights, which gave them more space. The narrow bridge would favor Sephiroth’s longer reach. “What’s stopping him from—”

Roaring flames shot out from across the open space and Youko snatched his summoner up (ignoring the indignant yell, of course.) He kicked off the mushroom cap, jumping to the next—this one was taller, looking down at their furious opponent. The fire flickered, trying in vain to feed on the green and white fungi, the failure due to centuries of life in the Makai and the fortifying magic that permeated everything Youko did while summoned.

It might be _possible_ to cut the stalk, but that may prove difficult for one who couldn’t fly.

“ _Damn it.”_ Zack swore, breaking Youko’s hold and finding his balance again. Something green flashed on his wrist, tingling magic settling along Youko’s skin in layers. He eyed the vague lines of colors he could barely see. “You are _crazy,_ you know that?”

Youko couldn’t help a smile.

“I—thank you. For coming.” Zack both looked and felt so lost as he said that, looking away from Youko. The coiled knot of emotion in the back of his mind shifted, guilt and pain leaking out again. Youko’s hand shot out and ruffled the shorter man’s spiked hair with clawed fingers, reveling in the sudden shock streaking through the bond. Anything but guilt. Youko had enough of that already.

The mushroom cap nearest the bridge shuddered as another weight settled on it, the remnants of his youki from the growth passing along the phantom message. Youko spun away from Zack suddenly, lashing out with the hungry whip just as he felt it shudder again, another leap—

A single black, feathered wing burst from Sephiroth’s back, a downward sweep pushing the otherwise defenseless human (or not human, as seemed to be the case) out of the arc of Youko’s strike. The man hovered above them, fascinated by the glossy feathers, and then he threw back his head and _laughed._

A single wing…where had he seen that before…?

Zack was pale as a ghost. “That’s…Seph—That’s degradation!”

_A black-haired swordsman. Greying hair and single, folded white wing._

“No, _Traitor._ It is Mother’s _gift._ ” Sephiroth’s laughter faded, but _something_ else continued to echo, causing Youko’s ears to twitch, searching for the sound. “I am her favored—the one who will take _back_ this world!”

That wasn’t just his imagination.

That was a _woman’s laugh,_ just on the edge of his hearing.

Body language that _didn’t_ fit with what Youko had last seen of the man. Tendency toward manic laughter and megalomaniac monologue. Sudden betrayal of known friendships and loyalties. Physical changes…

He’d seen all the signs before.

And that woman’s laugh…

_x-x-x_

“Just. Stay. Still!” Genesis growled as his fireball passed directly through his target with nothing more than a ripple, the image fading out a moment later. It didn’t even surprise him anymore. The newcomer was _fast_ and slippery as an eel. Genesis couldn’t even follow his movements reliably—it almost appeared like he was _teleporting._ But short range teleportation was _extremely_ risky and resource draining—Genesis had tried to perfect it, but it just wasn’t practical.

And those illusions…Genesis had been _sure_ that had been the real one.

He saw the tell-tale shimmer that heralded the reappearance of the interloper, but instead of charging another spell, he grit his teeth and _moved_ , drawing on all the speed his failing, yet enhanced body had left. Ranged wasn’t working. Perhaps the travel-time was too long, or there was a delay in the cast.

There would be no delay in _this._ He reached out and grabbed, gloves curling around a _very_ real and solid leather-clad arm. He pulled the man off balance, toward him, shifting to a more stable hold, and brought around his beloved rapier. Seeing death coming, the black-haired man tried to break free, but Genesis wouldn’t let him. He thrust the blade through the man’s chest without hesitation. Clear out this man, and the Second would be easy prey.

Time seemed to slow. The man turned his head. And smirked at him.

Genesis couldn’t believe his eyes.

He _hadn’t_ been hitting an afterimage. The man’s chest seemed to _ripple_ around the entry point of the blade, a green smoke bleeding off from the edges. No blood. But Genesis could _feel_ the man in his grasp!

It _had_ to be a trick. Some sort of magic. Genesis reached out with a scan—

And was overwhelmed by the amount of _magic_ radiating from the… _thing_ in his arms.

There was nothing human in that knot of concentrated magic. It almost...it almost felt like…

He felt the Goddess’ guiding hand leading him to the answer, her presence faded, her attention on _Sephiroth,_ yet she still watched over him. He still had her favor.

_The dragon._

Circling a blazing town, bringing falling rain.

_A summon._

But he’d sensed that summoning as an unexpected explosion of magical power. There had been no such thing this time… Nor had he heard of such a human looking summon. If it hadn’t been for the scan not picking up _anything_ human…

The magic flared, shifting and he lost his grip on the man.

No. Not human. Not anymore.

Scales replaced skin, green eyes glittering in an elongated face.

Black coils surrounded him, trying to crush him. Genesis didn’t have time to think. Electricity exploded, racing along scales and even managing to shock _him_ despite his Wall spell. But the shocks did their job, causing slight loosening of the snake’s coils. Loose enough for Genesis to slip free, tumbling along the catwalk. He instinctually tried to spread his wing for balance as he sprang to his feet, but it sent a flash of pain running through his body, snapping back to his side. Damn that sniper.

The snake seemed to _melt_ away, revealing the black-haired man again. The… _thing_ had the _nerve_ to _grin_ at him!

“Oh please, you were much more pleasant as a _reptile.”_ Genesis snapped, throwing out a slow spell as his first attempt, a stop spell, slid off the man-looking creature like water.

You couldn’t _kill_ a summon. Normally enough damage would banish them…but how could he damage _this_ one? _Why_ did _everything_ seem ineffective?

He charged, a spinning slash that the summon actually dodged, dancing away in a smooth motion. _Why?_ If it was invulnerable, why bother dodging?

And how _dare_ he look so amused doing so! It was grating on Genesis’ nerves. He threw out a series of reckless fireballs, wasted magic that ended up splashing against the far wall, a few specimen pods, and a shimmering green barrier.

_Barrier? But the summon was over there—_

And now it wasn’t. Genesis spun, searching the room frantically to find his wayward target.

Sharp pain tore through his side, his instincts punching through the sudden shock and thrusting his sword through a smirking green-eyed _thing_ that was currently withdrawing a bloodied dagger from Genesis’ side. He flashed away in a panicked cloud of feathers, ignoring the screaming in his wing in his haste to escape.

Green mist rose from the edges of his rapier, matching the energy dancing along the slash it had left in the summon’s leather jerkin. It knitted the apparent injury together, leaving the clothing as unblemished as any upper-plate, cultured citizen he’d ever seen discussing the literary merits of Loveless.

The command washed over him, an edict from his Goddess. The fire of her attention was like a balm to his soul, burning away the pains of his failing flesh. The only respite he’d _ever_ had since that day a sparring wound wouldn’t heal.

And like divine intervention, his question was answered, delivered on a platter of memories the goddess tore from his rival’s mind.

It was drawing on its summoner for each wound.

No summoner.

No magic.

No summon.

That glimmer of green against the far wall, Genesis searched out that spot now. Without the active magics he could see through the spot, to the worried teenage harlot trying to prop up an unconscious Second Class.

_When did she escape?_

But the thought drifted away. She wasn’t important. If Fair had found her, he had also found Sephiroth.

A Sephiroth that would run him through without a second thought, the Goddess’ cheerful humming reassured Genesis of that.

If he couldn’t get at the Second…he would just have to outlast his magic. With his Goddess’ support…Genesis could do _anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m taking suggestions for future summons. Not anyone’s specific summons – for example, I have Sephiroth’s planned already—but just generic ones. They need to follow the rules I have set though—no mortals. Kurama is an exception for a reason. God/desses or extremely powerful natural spirits that might as well be gods. I’m leaning towards less humanoid looking ones, but go ahead and toss any suggestions you’d like to see.
> 
> Of course, normal comments or speculations are still appreciated!


	27. Swept Away

Thunder rumbled, but the sound itself barely registered to Cloud’s fog-filled mind. Instead he felt the approaching storm as a pressure building behind his eyes, an itching energy building under his skin. Logically, he knew he shouldn’t be out here, and for a moment that thought broke through the haze, causing him to raise his head to look up at the lip of the ravine, and the darkening sky beyond it. The mountains were dangerous enough as it was, if he was caught in the canyon when the rains came…

But that _something_ was still there. Pulling him along the rock strewn, but surprisingly smooth floor of the ravine. This was once a riverbed. He knew that. Knew that it had been carved over ages of snowmelts, and furious mountain storms.

 _I need to get out of here._ But the thought was distant. Just like the pain in his bare feet was only a distant worry. Just like the chill seeping through his dishelved pajamas. None of it _mattered._

_This is stupid. It **can’t**_ _be here._

The nightmare lingered in his mind, a broken body, tossed from the cliff side. Slivers of red scattered among grey stone stained with blood.

The water would have moved it. Shoved bone and shards alike into little nooks and crannies. Buried under _years_ of silt. Washed through tiny cracks that drained into underground cave systems, picked up by animals—

Or curious children.

The edges of the broken shard dug into his palm. But…it felt warmer. Warmer than the chill pre-storm mountain air. If it looked at it now, would he see the shadow of the glow that had once been there?

But if he looked he might miss it, the thing he was searching for.

“ _Don’t worry, I know rivers.”_

The journey was a blur of stone, following the flow of water etched into the weathered canyon walls, and other things that Cloud _couldn’t_ know. Searching for the faint glimmer of _familiar_ that had led him this far.

And then…the clouds broke, spilling their cargo from the sky and onto dry stone. Raindrops plastered his hair to his face, and in minutes tiny rivulets of water pooled around his feet, the cold water numbing and easing the pain from his climb. Soon it was up to his calves. He _should_ be panicking as the volume increased, thunder crashing overhead and shaking the world as the rain poured down—a mountain squall that showed no inclination of burning itself out. Much more and it would threaten to sweep him off his already unsteady feet. But…with the water flowing around him, waking up the sleeping river…

He took a brief moment to admire the swirls of moving water, skimming his fingertips through the water. The current tugged him along, an excited child running ahead and then sprinting back, babbling at him that they were _almost_ there—

“Are you are a goddamn idiot, kid?!” A gust of wind howled through the canyon brought the shout to him moments before a sudden impact hit the water, throwing a shower of water into the air to join the rain pouring down. Cloud blinked in alarm, an arm shooting out of the falling water to grab him by the shoulder and shake him silly. “That damn martial artist turned out the whole _town_ to look for you, and I find you playing in the middle of a !@#%ing river in a !@#%ing storm!?”

An…unfamiliar man stood in the now knee-deep water with him, short maybe once-blonde hair plastered to his skull. His blue aviator jacket was _soaked_ through by now, and he stamped the butt of his spear against the stone ground to mark his points, even though the effect was dulled by the water it kicked up each time. A faint…glow was rising from the man’s skin. Cloud didn’t respond to the man’s words, just watched the play of magic, fascinated.

“Damn it, they didn’t tell me you were mute as well as dumb.” He shook his head violently—were those _goggles_ on his head?—“We’re getting the !@#% out of here while I still have another Jump left. Blasted unnatural storm…didn’t get any warning from Rocket Town…”

It wasn’t until the man readjusted his grip to pull Cloud closer to him that his intent broke through the haze. He was going to try to take him _back?_

No!

He was too close!

The river teased at him. Just a little further…

“NO!”

Water exploded around them, shoving the man back and away, breaking that iron hold and letting Cloud wiggle away, the river urging him along. He heard the man cursing up a storm, water rushing and splashing as he tried to slog through the rising water after him.

“Damn it kid!” The shouts continued to follow him, “Fine, fine! We can go for a !@#% ing swim. But I’m not leaving without you!”

x-x-x

Cid cursed the rain. He cursed the water. But most of all he cursed that damn _kid._

After that freaky mojo with the water, the kid’s blonde head was a blur in the driving rain, but Cid doggedly kept following it. The damn kid was _insane_ , staying down here in the middle of a freak storm. And maybe Cid was insane for not allowing him his death wish since the kid obviously wanted to get himself killed, but the kid’s mother had been fit to be tied and _damn_ Cid hating to see women cry _._

…and it almost seemed like the boy was pulling _away_ from him despite being half Cid’s height, and the water was surprisingly difficult to slog through, clinging to his clothes and dragging him down… He was moving with the !@#%ing flow, it should be _pushing_ him along. He had the craziest idea that the water didn’t _want_ him to catch up.

Or maybe not so crazy after the weird way the water had leapt at him as the kid ran off. Not to mention the storm. He was a goddamn Captain, he kept up with the weather reports daily. The nearest storm was miles off the !@#%ing coast this morning. The whole damn thing was impossible. There was no _way_ he wouldn’t have heard of one this large.

Magic has its place. It could be a useful tool. And much of it couldn’t be explained. Or at least not in a way _he_ could understand. As much as it rankled at him, Cid accepted that and used it accordingly. But he _hated_ how easy it could shove science aside when it wanted to. And how the hell was a _kid_ conjuring up a goddamn storm anyway? A sick little brat whose creepy glowing eyes hadn’t even been able to _focus_ on him while they spoke?

Damn it, he lost sight of that blur of yellow. He didn’t want to do this but…he couldn’t afford to lose the little brat. He reached for the energy he’d been holding back for his escape, and _jumped._ In a blur of speed he was arcing in the air, splashing down next to the startled brat in a spray and wave of water. As expected the brat whirled around, raising his hands in a warding gesture, waves of water rising unnaturally mid-ripple between them—

“Just give me a _second_ to speak, damn it.” Cid didn’t _want_ water flying at his face again, thank you very much. Every inch of him may be soaked, and he’d grown so used to the rain that it was easy to ignore the constant stinging, but that didn’t mean he _liked_ getting a mouthful of water shoved down his throat just because he got close. “Obviously you’ve got some crazyass business out here. Fine. Whatever. But I’ll be here to cart your sorry ass back to town the _moment_ it’s done, understood?”

The boy tilted his head, eyes unfocussed. Weird. The Wutaian martial artist said the boy had blue eyes, like his mama, blue as the sky with !@#%ing fluffy white clouds and picnic baskets. These were more like the storm clouds clogging the goddamn sky. That just made the glow even more unnatural looking. Finally the creepy kid nodded, hands dropping and turning away to continue down the river. The weird raised water wavered, and then collapsed back into the _sane_ downriver flow that natured intended for it, thank you very much. How far down the mountain range were they anyway? The damn canyon had to let out somewhere for the water to drain.

“What the hell are you looking for anyway?” The odd resistance was gone as well, and Cid had no problem keeping up with the boy’s admittedly fast pace. Okay. So the damn kid apparently had freaky water controlling magic. Cid hadn’t heard of any materia like that being developed. It would have been damn useful when setting up Rocket Town, their plumbing system had been a pain in the ass to build, having to pump it from a mountain spring.

“A grave.”

Oh. So he wasn’t mute.

“In a damn canyon?”

The boy shrugged, and went back to ignoring him.

Cid let out an irritated sigh and slung his spear over his back. The water was dragging at it, and making it awkward to move, but he wasn’t willing to just toss it away. He paid good money for that javelin. Soaked hands ended up stuffed into soaked jacket, and Cid cursed as a shiver from the chill water ran down his spine.

He could only hope he didn’t end up with pneumonia because of this little !@#% … Shera would catch the next helicopter out to just to nag him to death.

x-x-x

The strange fungal growth shuddered beneath the impact, but even a drop from ten feet in the air didn’t do much more than leave a gouge in the cap. Sephiroth eyed it irritably—that wasn’t _natural._ Nothing stood up to Masamune—but inevitably his attention was drawn away, to his target.

Who didn’t have the decency to _die_ for his crimes— _whatcrimes? **Angeal!—**_ and kept bounding between the islands of mushroom and various metal foot holds, rafters and other support structures. Sephiroth flared his wing and soared upwards, carried by the wave of magic and power his mother granted him.

 _—He’d always wondered how it would feel to fly away, leave ShinRa and Hojo behind. He hadn’t been surprised when Genesis deserted, but learning that he’d turned against_ them _—_

Masamune cut an arc of sizzling energy in the air, breaking and crashing against the treated steel of the structure. He heard Za—the **_Traitor—_** yelp as he was forced to abandon that perch. Saw him barrel toward the nearest mushroom cap, and duck and cover his head. A shining white barrier snapped to life as Sephiroth’s follow up Firaga spell washed over him, throwing the stream of roaring flames out to dissipate over the reservoir.

Annoyance. Sephiroth didn’t have a Dispel. He never had much use for status effects. He stooped, taking advantage of the Traitor’s unoptimal positioning and dove, preparing for another strike. It would only take moments to roll and regain his feet, ready to dodge again— Magic-enhanced steel sung through the air, his mother’s blessing flowing through him.

And then his forward momentum stopped, harshly, the whiplash knocking him out of his attack vector and tumbling through the air. But not into freefall. Sephiroth flexed that strange—but oh so natural—knot of muscle and magic that controlled his flight only to find resistance. Black feathers and bone crunched under a crushing grip, sending the nerves screaming in that brief moment before mako burned and Mother quieted the pain.

The inertia of his fall swung him around, slamming into the center pillar— _oh no mother!—_ metal crunched, but didn’t break. Glass didn’t shatter. A second jerk and his arm was caught, something green and strong curling around his sword-hand. He refused to drop the blade even as unnaturally sharp thorns tore through the leather of his glove, but Mother’s blessing numbed that too.

More and more vines shot out—Sephiroth couldn’t _believe_ this; the traitor hadn’t shown _this_ ability during their training sessions. Mustering his strength, Sephiroth tore his sword hand free. Another shot out, another and another, catching and binding his limbs even as he managed to free one. They curled and twisted, _alive_ , wrestling with him mid-air, although they kept inching him back toward the pillar. Were they planning _on binding_ him against it?

 _Sephiroth_ was fast. And strong, but each time he managed to get close to breaking free, his attackers would multiply. It was like wrestling a marlboro, the poisonous green tentacles never ending even as the poison sapped his strength and stole his life away. At least then he’d been able to plunge Masamune into the maw of the beast, stilling the wiggling and leaving the tentacles limp and dead and dissolving into red mist. There was no such heart now, just a mass of never ending writhing vines. He couldn’t even stab the source if he wanted to, he very much remembered the nebulous nature of summon injuries. In order to banish the thing he would have to cut off the source of magic.

Finally the vines managed to break his grip, wrenching Masamune away from him. The loss of his sword was like a loss of a limb—he didn’t even have the space to summon it _back_ as he was jerked against cold steel, the sudden tightening of the vines around his chest making it difficult to draw it air. But they didn’t stop there, curling round and round, constricting to where he couldn’t anything beyond the mass of green..

Had the traitor been hiding this sort of capabilities even back then? Why hadn’t he _said_ his summon had this sort of large scale manipulation? It made perfect sense—if he was planning _betrayal._ Was this how he’d managed to kill Angeal? He’d been relieved when he’d heard the news but hadn’t believed it possible—

… _relieved?_

Sephiroth couldn’t even see the glow of the mako anymore. He could barely breathe, well and truly trussed. The vines didn’t even give him the s _lightest_ bit of leeway…

But he _refused_ to give up like this.

Magic burned within him. Bubbling and burning and _waiting_. It fed on his energy, but Sephiroth didn’t care. He was mother’s champion, here to cleanse her world. First, the Traitor. Then ShinRa. Then.

Well. Even the _stars_ weren’t a limit.

“Youko! Stop! I need to at least _try_ and talk to him!”

Come closer to your doom. **_Traitor._**

The crushing grip on his chest loosened, and Sephiroth was able to draw in one breath…

Everything exploded into a maelstrom of fire and magic and light, ripping and tearing outward from his skin, shredding cloth and vines alike. Sephiroth didn’t need to see, he _knew_ where everyone was. Mother knew, so he knew. That bright spot of white amongst the fire was turning it aside, so…Sephiroth reached out and crushed it with power and will. Reflect _shattered_ allowing the magical heat to wash over the SOLDIER unimpeded. Sephiroth didn’t even wait to savor the pained screams. The Traitor was a SOLDIER. He was still alive.

That was unacceptable.

Masamune was a gathering warmth in his hand. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Magic sang along steel, the weight settling in his hand, pushing through burned flesh beneath him. They crashed into one of the mushroom caps, the wutaian forged steel stabbing through the SOLDIER’s gut, and then struck three feet deep into the hardy fungi. The Traitor wheezed beneath him, hands clawing at the steel, blood running down the length of the blade, thick rivers, sliced from hands clasping the sharp edge of the blade.

“S-seph—“

“And now you _die,_ Traitor.” Sephiroth purred an echoing warmth and pleasure accompanying the feeling. Accomplishment. His Mother was pleased.

He had his revenge.

_Revenge?_

Revenge for _what?_

A moment of inattention, Sephiroth was teetering between two points. Sudden silence. Emptiness. The cold feeling of horror trickling through him. The trappings of righteous victory collapsed into dust, leaving the cold hard truth. A gasping First, his precious blade pinning Zack to the mushroom like an insect pinned to a display board. The mushroom was turning a _bright_ crimson beneath the bleeding first, but there was no blood pooling beneath them. _What have I done—!_

Whatever had been numbing his wounds vanished, a torrent of pain rocked his ribs and his arm felt like it wanted to buckle. To collapse in a heap and do nothing but die beside Zack.

But he couldn’t move. Something was holding him in place. Forcing him to _watch_ as the mako tried in vain to close Zack’s wound, only succeeding in prolonging the agony longer. He wanted to yank out the sword. But he couldn’t. He was frozen, forced to stare into the despair and betrayal in Zack’s eyes. Zack was trying to pull himself _up_ along the blade, but Sephiroth’s other hand and his weight was a vice grip on the SOLDIER’s shoulder, forcing him down.

_You killed him. The only **friend** you had left. **Betrayed** him._

The woman’s voice wove around him, fanning the guilt and self loathing like a sudden breeze on a newly kindled fire.

_You are a **monster.**_

_No one will care about you now._

_No one, except me._

_Mother will always love you._

_Always accept you._

**_Come_ ** _to me!_

The command resonated through him, widening the cracks in his already broken mind. Zack had stopped struggling. His eyes closed. Labored breathing slowed.

_Come to me and there won’t be any pain. No guilt. Nothing will ever hurt you again._

_Not even yourself._

_“ **Found you!”**_

A bestial snarl; and the soothing voice turned into a shriek, glass shattering. The force holding Sephiroth vanished, and he collapsed, Masamune dissolving into motes of light. He slumped over Zack, only vaguely conscious of the almost nonexistent rise and fall of the First’s chest.

Not dead.

Not yet.

x-x-x

Vincent tracked the back and forth below him, nestled against a metal support beam in the upper reaches of the tall, but relatively narrow room. He’d avoided the main entrance when he’d heard the sound of magical discharge, and found the maintenance access where he’d expected it to be. It was comforting to know that _some_ of his information was still useful some odd decade or two later.

He hesitated, picking out the red coat and black wing he remembered from that night, highlighted by the blaze of a burning town. That was his target—Genesis. But…the other participant in the little brawl was not one of the merry little band he’d provided cover for. Vincent had never seen him before. Black hair, leather clothing for the extra resistance cloth wouldn’t afford, but still loose and maneuverable. Green cloth trimmed the more neutral leather, and it was those streaks of color that enabled Vincent to follow the man among the greys of the machinery. He was _fast._ Dodging and weaving and dancing around the fugitive’s precise and quick saber strikes.

There was something _wrong_ about how Genesis was moving too. Too fluid. Too _quick._ Unnatural reflexes, even by _Vincent’s_ standards. Kunsel had never demonstrated that sort of reaction, and it was far from the crazed and overpowered SOLDIER prototypes he’d occasionally had to restrain before...

Green mist erupted into the air, trailing along the rapier’s blade like a comet’s tail. The black haired man drew back, apparently just managing to dodge the strike since Vincent could see no sign of wounds, even as the man took a moment to catch his breath. Still, for just a single moment. But that single moment was one the fugitive took advantage of. Magic flared along the blade, a whirl of black feathers boosting the charge. Ice crystals formed along the wave of an outstretched hand, pillars of ice bursting out of the metal surrounding his opponent. He was trapped.

Vincent quickly calculated the distance of the drop—he was fairly sure he would survive with minimal injuries if he braced correctly—the circle of pillars was almost directly below him. At that momentum he could not stop the charge, but if he shot out the pillars, grabbed the man and rolled—

But then something caught his eye. A flash of green eyes—the man was looking directly at him. A momentary hand movement. Three fingers. A heartbeat later. Two.

The magic dancing along Genesis’ blade flared, bursting into a roaring fire. The red and orange light reflected in the magically reinforced ice.

Vincent ignored the little voice in the back of his mind, the one telling him if he waited just one more moment it would be too late to do anything…

As the last finger dropped, Genesis breached the circle of ice with a single flaming slash. The black-haired man _collapsed_ into mist, swirls following the momentum of Genesis’ strike, the bulk of it sinking harmlessly to the pool on the floor. The half-mad fugitive snarled something Vincent couldn’t hear, spinning and slashing angrily at the ice. Ribbons of shadow burst from the mist, wrapping around leg and arm and torso.

Vincent didn’t need the signal anymore, the timing ringing in his bones as if it had been shouted. He leaped, the rush of air tugging on that phantom sensation of _something_ as he fell. His first instinct should have been to go for his gun.

Instead it was his arm that wrapped around the fugitive’s shoulder. Golden claw finding the man’s skull. His momentum threw them both onto the catwalk, snapping the black restraints and whipping the green mist around them both. The metal screamed beneath them, twisted—and then snapped, continuing the downward plunge. The light was cut off, blocked by the rows and rows of containment pods above them. Nothing left but the bit that filtered through the holes in the catwalks, glittering faintly in long-dried evidence of mako spills.

Vincent _smashed_ the man’s head into the floor, having maneuvered himself on top as they fell, keeping a vice grip on Genesis’ shoulder, applying pressure where he _knew_ there was a still healing bullet wound. The man shuddered, dazed—but a second bash for good measure, and he went limp in Vincent’s grasp, loose feathers kicked up in the storm of their descent. The ex-Turk waited a moment. Two. For any sign of consciousness.

Then he rolled off the other man, sucking in a shuddering breath against the tremors still running through his body. That impact hadn’t been pleasant for him either. He sat there for a moment, dazed, as the green mist swirled around him.

Then it coalesced into that same black-haired, green-eyed man. They locked eyes, and Vincent refused to be the one to look away, especially since the other was regarding him behind a faint smile, one that hinted at the best joke in the _world,_ if he cared to share it.

While those eyes did not hold the tell-tale glow of mako, they did have a strange depth to them that Vincent found strikingly _familiar._

He’d just been used to seeing them in the face of a cat, peering at him in the darkness of the mountain’s night.

“…Loki?”

That wiped the smile off his face, replacing it with an annoyed frown and a roll of the eyes. And then he _changed._ Something seemed to...shift before Vincent’s eyes, and the man was gone. A weight landed on Vincent’s shoulder, fur tickling his jaw.

The sparkling green eyes of Kunsel’s strange summoned feline-sometimes bird looked up at him, the small body vibrating as it purred at him.

Well, well. That _was_ useful.

Another moment and Vincent felt confident enough to move, and then he had to figure out how to deal with the super-powered ex-SOLDIER crumpled in a heap beside him. After a moment’s thought Vincent quickly bound the unconscious fugitive. He still had a length of rope he’d taken from the town. Even the most efficient knot—and Vincent had been _trained_ in detaining those stronger than he—wouldn’t hold the kind of strength he’d seen out of the SOLDIER prototypes for long. But any sort of warning would be worth it.

He hefted the unconscious and bound SOLDIER over his empty shoulder, mindful of the cat-shaped summon occupying the other one, and carefully picked his way toward where he assumed the front of the room was, based on the staircase type nature of the ceiling. The lowest edge would be blocked by the curved metal backs of the containment pods…except…

A faint green light blinked along the far wall of the row of pods, strangely flat where the rest were curved and segmented. An access panel.

Luckily the overrides he’d learned years ago still functioned, and let them out into the dim, but much brighter in comparison, lights of the main room. He dropped the ex-SOLDIER in a heap against the now opened panel in the wall. If Loki had been fighting…that meant Kunsel should be around here somewhere. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the room from above, although the pods may have blocked the view from certain angles.

The cat’s tail batted against his jaw. Pat. Pat. A soft tickle of fur against skin. Pat. Pat. Vincent turned his head in that direction, not even bothering to hide his chuckle as the purring intensified. He scanned the indicated side, quickly spotting the fading green motes of some sort of magical construct. Inside…

Well, there were two of the wayward band.

He began to take the stairs, the two were located about a third of the way up, and the access panel had let him out at the bottom of the stairs. The girl scrambled to her feet as he approached, standing protectively over the fallen SOLDIER. Vincent briefly measured her stance. Tired, but firm. Good. She hadn’t panicked.

When he turned onto the level she was at, she tensed further, raising her fists and shifting her weight to allow her a quick kick if needed. Unarmed fighter. Good to know. He just had to stay out of her range.

Luckily it didn’t come to that.

“You are—“ She almost seemed to sag in relief as she recognized him. Perhaps the time could have been because of his lack of cloak. She had to have seen him around the village. Everyone had. If not in person, then his description had likely been passed around. He knew how gossip mills worked, especially after a tremendous disaster, when people latched onto anything to keep their minds off what happened. “I don’t…he won’t wake up.” Vincent looked past her as she turned around, kneeling next to the SOLDIER. Purple uniform, the upper half covered in crystalizing green stains. Vincent glanced around, finding similar crystals scattered around one of the pods. He sighed. Given the trouble they’d been having with the boy, Vincent would have hoped Kunsel would have been smart enough to avoid mako.

As Vincent reached down to check the SOLDIER’s pulse, the light weight on his shoulder shifted, claws biting through the thin fabric of his shirt and into skin. Then it was gone, the cat leaping gracefully to the SOLDIER’s chest, purring and kneading the fabric with his claws.

Kunsel groaned and swatted at the cat, who merely seemed to dance around the gesture. The girl gaped.

“I even tried _slapping_ him! H-how—“

Vincent shrugged. For all he knew the summon had done something. “If he is responding, he will be fine. Where are the others?”

“They—“ She blinked and shook her head, the tension that had just bled out of her returning in full force, “He—Zack said to get out of here! Evacuate the town! Sephiroth—he—I don’t know. He told me to get Kunsel and make him leave. That he would deal with Sephiroth.”

_Sephiroth?_

The word clicked in Vincent’s mind, dragging memories of long nights, a crying woman, and betrayal. Death and pain. He shoved them aside, locking away the aching memories of a woman crying piteously for her son, for the choices she regretted. There was no guarantee.

“You are a martial artist, are you not?” She tensed, and then nodded. Vincent studied her again. She was still a teenager, but given the muscle definition… Still. He knelt down, hyper aware of the green eyes following him from the cat’s perch on Kunsel’s chest. He didn’t have to search long. The PHS was where he remembered seeing Kunsel stow it, tucked into a small harness within the SOLDIER belt.

He considered the alien technology for a moment. He knew what it was supposed to be. He’d seen Kunsel _use_ it, but less than a week was not enough time to get over the fact that he’d been asleep for _twenty_ odd years and the world did not remain the same. Vincent rose sharply, tossing it into Tifa’s startled hands, she probably would understand it better. “There should be some sort of short-wave function.” At least _those_ had existed in his time. Even if they had never been that _small._ “See if you can contact the transport in the town. You—” This was directed at the cat, that wasn’t really a cat, “Carry him out of here. I do not know how long the target will remain incapacitated.”

The cat merely stared at him from its perch on Kunsel’s chest, tail flicking back and forth. Vincent translated the almost offended look as, ‘You expect me to do _what?’_ Vincent responded with a slight shrug. It wasn’t much to ask. The girl looked up from where she’d been fiddling with the machine, glancing nervously at the still form of the red-haired fugitive. “What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer, merely studied the letters over the door at the top of the stairs, where she’d indicated when she’d mentioned _Sephiroth._ The name they spelled was even more damning. Vincent had been a guard, not a scientist, but he’d been with the project, and with _Lucrecia_ long enough to know a little about what that project meant. He’d had to stand guard while the scientists observed and discussed how J-Cells had torn the minds of even the most stable of the SOLDIER prototypes apart.

His demons shifted uneasily in the shadows of his soul. There was something in that room they did _not_ like.

“Just _go_. _”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically part 1 of 2. They were split due to length.
> 
> By the way, thanks for the suggestions! I have some in mind now :D
> 
> ...Although I still need some sort of wind spirit...


	28. Determination

Youko flicked fluid and blue crystalized flesh from his claws, lips curling in grim satisfaction at the fading shriek echoing painfully in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. The unnatural red light in the corpse's eyes flared as it slumped forward, supported from within the container of shattered glass and shredded metal thanks to the mishmash of cables and tubes.

The yawning pit of exhaustion dragged at him, but he forced himself to stay upright, narrowing the focus on his target. Zack was running low on magic. It had happened once or twice before, but always a sudden surge of power had come out of nowhere as the man downed some sort of medicine. Ironically, the very thing Sephiroth had suggested during that training session. He trusted Zack to take care of himself.

_**Yooouuu…** _

The fading hiss continued after the shriek quieted; the wheeze of a dying breath. _Whatever_ that _thing_ was, it wasn't even remotely human. Maybe once, but not for a long, _long_ time.

_**You betray one who would** _ **free** _**you.** _

The light flared in the corpse's eyes. Stubbornly clinging even as the woman-shaped creature's vitals were failing, greenish blood and bits of shredded organs mixing with the odd blue fluid she'd been suspended in.

 _At least I don't manipulate someone into betraying their comrades._ Youko responded, following the trail of her words to their strange shared frequency. It was almost like talking to Hiei, when the fire-demon felt the need to speak without words. _I protect, which seems to be a concept you know nothing of._

Youko drew his claws back and plunged them into the woman's chest. As before the flesh was strangely resistant, crystalline, and splintered oddly beneath the force. It was not a clean entry by any means, shards of flesh digging into his bare arm, letting wisps of mist steam off the nebulous wounds. Claws curled around what he assumed was the heart, if he remembered his anatomy correctly. It pulsed beneath his grip. Weakening with each beat.

Ideally he would summon a blade of grass to finish the job, but his youki was strangely hard to grasp. In fact, everything was getting rather hazy as Zack skirted the edge of exhaustion. He needed to finish this quick. If he was correct, then taking out _this_ thing should at least stop Sephiroth long enough for them to take a breather. Her aura was oddly tangled up in his, which was how he'd even figured out that the weird pickled _thing_ was even alive. The smug laughter had been the confirmation.

 _ **Protect?**_ She spat back, laughter fading in and out, _**You are far too late for that. How does it feel, dog, to be dancing at the whims of one of those monkeys? Did he teach you to heel too?**_

Anger flared. Muscles flexed and then clenched, crushing the organ in a crack and splinter of crystal. Was _anything_ actually flesh on this thing? The light in her eyes lingered, fading slowly,

_**Perhaps one day you will appreciate what I have given you. Enjoy your freedom, until another picks up your chain, and you are caged once more.** _

And then…she was…gone. The presence animating the long dead body extinguished. Youko stared at the lifeless corpse, trying to puzzle through those last confusing words. _Freedom?_

Webs of fractures spread along the body as he pulled his claw free of the woman's chest, chips and shards of crystalized flesh falling away from the main mass… He stopped, and stared. His hands…were strangely transparent.

_**Before another picks up your chain again…** _

…his _oathstone._

Damn, damn, damn.

The only reason he would be this far gone was if Zack _couldn't_ do anything about it. Given how well he'd been moving not too long ago…

It was too soon. Why hadn't he realized it was too soon? It had taken _hours_ to drain that much magic before!

Youko ignored the weakness he'd assumed was from magical exhaustion, and spun away from the container. He reached for his plants, recoiling at the slow trickle of youki answering his call. The knot of pain and guilt that tied him to Zack was slowly unraveling, and Youko wasn't sure if he could hold it together.

 _There._ Behind the pillar, near the burnt and withered husk where he'd planted the hungry vine and coaxed it to growth. The nearest mushroom cap had a splash of bright healthy scarlet, surrounded by a halo of white and green along the edges. All of the others still retained the pale color they'd been grown with.

The Sanguine Fungi were _supposed_ to be red. But only after they had fed. He'd hoped the magic contained in the goop below, as well as his youki would be enough to sustain them without their usual meal. One seemed to have had a feast anyway.

Youko grunted as he landed on the cap, his knees buckling beneath him. There wasn't any pain. There never was except for Zack's emotional state. But this sucking weakness was slowly unraveling him from within, loosening his grasp on the magically constructed body. If he lost it completely…

No.

He stumbled toward the bodies sprawled in the center of the deepest concentration of red. Rust stained silver pooled around them, the only evidence of the amount of blood that would have fed the fungi this much. Sephiroth was slumped over Zack's chest, unconscious. At least he'd been right about that. He stumbled to his knees beside them.

No wonder the magic supporting him was barely a trickle. Zack was also out, his skin a painful looking shade of red— _burns_ , his mind immediately supplied, running through his inventory of seeds for the ingredients for a salve before he realized he didn't have the youki to grow any of them—but then he'd seen Zack take a fire spell directly and not even come away pink. Why wasn't his innate healing taking care of this? He could feel it working, sucking even more of the magic to feed itself and destabilizing his hold further—

That couldn't be it. Youko grunted, and rolled the larger form of Sephiroth off his prone summoner, barely sparing a glance for Zack's superior or his broken wing. The reason the burns weren't healing was because there was something _much worse._ A gaping wound stared up at him, shredding clothes, skin and organs in a disturbingly similar way to how he'd gutted the not-a-woman. He could _feel_ the burn of magic under the man's skin, working frantically to repair the worst of the damage before it was too late…

 _If I let go and banish myself…_ he thought wearily, _would the freed up magic be enough?_

Or would he sit there at home, not only worrying about when Koenma would tell him it was time, but now also about whether or not he'd failed the one he'd ended up giving up so much to protect?

_No._

Not without trying, anyway. The bond would snap, one way or another. All of Zack's magic was focused on healing, and Youko's own youki was failing…it was just a matter of time, and what he could do with it.

Youko reached out with the remaining youki he had, careful not to draw any from the magic working to heal Zack as he did so. He didn't have enough to even sprout a seed, but he did have enough to reach the things he'd already grown.

His hungry vine was only barely clinging to life, echoing with the impression of heat and fire that had torn it apart. It only surrendered a pittance of the youki he'd used to animate it, not even enough to return it to its seed state.

But the mushrooms…

They glowed with _Life,_ drinking greedily of the magic in the reservoir below them. He pulled it toward him, all of them at once, every stalk he'd planted and grown withering as he yanked the life from them. It was painful, the anguish of his plants shook his soul, but he persevered. Stalks shivered and collapsed into the vat below them, throwing up massive shoots of glowing liquid as they impacted. Only one managed to remain. The one that continued to drink its fill of Zack's blood, flowing from the blade wound that pierced straight through him

Youko held the magic, preventing it from working to stabilize his body. That wasn't what he needed it for, and he needed every bit he could. His clawed hands trembled as he placed them over the wound; he could still see the gaping stab through them, flickering as they were into and out of view. He didn't have much time.

He'd…never healed anyone directly before, but his plants would be too _slow._ Only the Sun's Blossom could heal something this bad quick enough, and he had nowhere _near_ enough magic to grow that seed. He'd seen Yukina heal, but never had he _tried—_

Zack shuddered, the glow of his innate magic along the edge of the wounds fading, Youko reached for the bond they had and _shoved_ his collected magic at it, preying it would be enough. The threads of the bond unraveled under his mental grip, but he refused to let go, just continuing pouring the magic through. Waiting for something. Anything.

The green fire at the edge of the wound reignited into a blaze. Zack sucked in a shuddering breath, where before they'd almost been too shallow to see.

The mushroom cap shuddered beneath them, a new weight landing on it. Youko forced himself to move. To turn. He had _nothing_ but will and claws remaining to him. And given how detached he felt from this body, he might not have those claws much longer.

A man crouched where he'd landed, a golden armored gauntlet digging into the spongy fungi. Black hair and red eyes— _red like the not-a-woman—_ and a strange _offness_ around him. Almost like Sephiroth's but different. Whispers hovered around him like mist, multiple, faint voices, but none had the same chilling tone as the woman's.

"I mean them no harm." His real voice was almost jarring, cutting through the whispers that Youko couldn't understand. He drew a green orb from his cloak, it glittered in the light, "I can help."

Help.

Help was good.

Youko kept his eye on the other man as he knelt beside him, the orb glowing a comforting spring green. He felt some of the burden ease, taking the weight off of his quickly dwindling hoard of magic.

Everything unraveled around him as the last of his hoarded magic drained, and the link snapped.

x-x-x

Kurama jerked awake. He raised a hand before his eyes, dark against the ceiling. The silhouetted blunt human fingers trembled in the night, but they were solid. He let out a shuddering breath, covering his face with his arm.

He didn't want to think.

If he thought, he would worry about something that was out of his hands completely now. He'd done _everything_ he could.

And he felt _exhausted_ for it. The summonings were becoming worse. They hadn't affected him this bad before…

Before meeting _her._

Minerva.

Since that night in Koenma's office.

He forced himself not to think about Zack's fate, or whether or not he could trust the gold-armored man to take care of them, and instead spoke to the darkness he could faintly sense.

"Did you get it?"

The shadows peeled back, revealing the fire hiding within. Hiei's familiar voice drowned out the faint night noises drifting in through the open window.

"Yes."

Good. At least _something_ good came from this mess. Hiei needed something to reference before he went diving; Minerva's power signature was distinctive and convenient.

"It will take some time for me to locate the memory." Hiei grunted, and Kurama heard the faintest shift of cloth, nearly inaudible footsteps crossing the wooden floor, "This will go smoother if you are unconscious."

The unspoken question lingered between them, accompanied by the drowsy buzzing of the jagan's youki as Hiei unsealed the demon eye. Eyes closed, Kurama pictured the scene as his bed shifted, Hiei's light weight settling on the edge. Red eyes—like the man's. Like the not-woman's—reflecting the purple glow from a third.

"Just…do it, Hiei." Kurama sighed into the darkness, "I give you permission to do what you need to."

Cool fingertips brushed against his forehead. Odd. Hiei's hands were generally warmer than that. Was he running a fever? Kurama forced himself to relax as he felt the jagan's probe brush against his mind, clamping down on his instinctual defenses. He didn't much like abilities that caused mental intrusions—and this would be going _far_ beyond simple telepathy—but this was _Hiei._ He trusted Hiei.

Hiei wouldn't kill him. Perhaps maim him for being an idiot, but he'd at least let Kurama wake up first so he could glare at him.

Under the jagan's mental coaxing, Kurama surrendered willingly to unconsciousness.

x-x-x

"I don't know why you are being so stubborn about this! They _all_ need medical attention, and the cargo ship—"

…shouting echoed in his head, rising above the somewhat more distant whirr of a familiar sound. Mechanical. Beating the air.

Whirling…

…those were helicopter blades…

"We can only fit so many, _little girl."_ The sneering voice dragged up purposefully buried childhood nightmares. Sephiroth struggled against unconsciousness. Everything felt _slow._ Like his thoughts were wading through syrup. What was _Hojo_ doing here? Had he been drugged? "Of course we prioritize the most _grievously_ injured. Be grateful the Turks even picked up your little…distress call."

And…where was here? The rough surface he was lying on didn't feel like the familiar cold medical table in the surgery ward, not that he'd been in there much lately. Nothing really hurt him bad enough to require surgery.

Or…so he thought. Pain was currently screaming at him, his arm, chest, and an unidentifiable knot in his right shoulder, tangling up with his thoughts and tripping them over each other. It wasn't just that…everything felt _raw._ Alien. Sephiroth could barely _focus._

"Fair requires facilities that your quaint little _town_ cannot hope to provide." Fair.

Fair.

Fair.

A wave of nausea washed over him, his mind filling with a horrifying image. Zack sprawled on a backdrop of red, rivers of blood running down gleaming silver steel. Familiar steel, splitting uniform and flesh. Blue-purple eyes dimming, lips more used to smiling, now flecked with blood and whispering a single word.

_W-why?_

"Vincent stabilized him—we bound his wounds. He was even conscious long enough to tell us what happened, for Gaea's sake! If anything, Kunsel or even _Sephiroth_ need it more! Neither of them have woken up at _all._ And there's the wing—"

"You would take someone else's word over one with more knowledge of SOLDIER physiology than you could ever _comprehend?_ " Hojo cut the female voice off. They were getting louder. He clung to them, forcing the horrifying vision from his mind. The darkness was lightening, there was sun filtering through his eyelids. If only he could move them. "You and the others will simply have to wait here for the transport. Now step _aside! Gun. Katana._ "

_You killed him._

No. He wasn't dead.

_You_ _**betrayed** _ _him!_

NO!

The light was blinding, his body screamed at him. The voices immediately hushed in stunned silence. His head reeled—he was sitting up somehow. Sephiroth immediately sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, teetering, leaning against a nearby stone, but he was _up._

"Just. Stop. You do not command my men, Hojo."

"And neither do you, as of right now." Hojo snapped. At least he assumed the blurry white blob, flanked by two others in blue was Hojo. Turks. Those two words must have been code-names. "Given all reports we should not allow you near _anyone_ for the foreseeable future. You will be under armed guard when back-up is flown in from Costa del Sol, and kept under observation for the foreseeable future. The President will not be pleased that you decided to follow Hollander's trash and destroyed a _valuable_ project!"

Dread gnawed at him—could, could it be true?—but Sephiroth was stubborn and gathered his not-inconsequential will and _forced_ himself to his feet. His right shoulder felt abnormally heavy and leadened, fire burning furiously beneath his skin—had he injured _that_ now too? Wasn't it bad enough his arm had been _broken?_ It wasn't from the crash… He remembered—remembered the crash—but he'd been taking it _easy._ Elixirs and a constant supply of regen only numbed the pain. Why did it feel like he'd pushed himself past even _his_ considerable limits?

"Even if I am removed from command, my men do not fall under the jurisdiction of the Science Department." Sephiroth responded flatly, even impressed with himself how even he was able to keep his tone despite his nausea. Even injured, two Turks—possibly three if there was a pilot in the machine behind them, would have a costly time taking him down if they tried. Given the hesitant looks they tossed at each other, they knew it too. With his vision clearing, Sephiroth noted he didn't recognize them, meaning they were likely the group who operated on this continent exclusively. He could use his reputation to his advantage, but that meant he couldn't afford to show weakness. "Unless there are life threatening circumstances—" and Zack was _not dead_ , no matter what Hojo implied or his fuzzy memories tried to insist. She had said he _woke up_.

"Unless protocol has changed, temporary status effects are _not_ sufficient reason to relieve someone of their command after the effect is dispelled," Another voice spoke softly, with the tone of one reciting verbatim. "There is sufficient evidence that outside factors contributed to the psychotic break. Do you not remember Dr. Crescent's work? _"_

Sephiroth tore his attention away from Hojo's entourage—a psychotic break?—and finally took note of the second half of the argument. The civilian, Tifa, stood protectively before a sheltered hollow near the edge of the valley, while Sephiroth had been propped against the rough cliff a short ways away—understandable caution if Valentine was telling the truth. Her gloved fists rising warningly as one of the Turks looked too long in their direction. To Sephiroth's surprise, a flicker of emotion broke the usual apathetic mask, and the man winced minutely, a hand twitching toward his side. There must be a reason why they were even indulging in talking. Hojo was more one to take than to ask permission. He would have to reevaluate his opinion of her if she managed to get a hit in on a _Turk._

Another reason was the shadow crouching in the doorway to the reactor just a short distance away. His words had drawn the director's attention away from Tifa, much to the girl's apparent relief. Dark hair and dark clothes, only recognizable to Sephiroth by the golden armor shining in the sun.

" _You_ stay out of this _."_ Hojo's venom filled response surprised Sephiroth. He never got visibly upset. His gaze drifted from the blank-faced shadow to the purpling professor, " _You_ of all people should understand the word _confidential."_

"Valentine is correct." His head was pounding, and only the rock to his back was keeping him upright, but Sephiroth refused to show anything less than confidence to the Director and his entourage. He _had_ to trust Valentine's words on the subject of his sanity. He didn't know what he would do otherwise. Sephiroth _barely_ remembered much, but what he did was jumbled and horrifying enough. Both of his men were heavily injured, but stable—although Sephiroth likely wouldn't feel better about _that_ until he could check them himself—and he couldn't lose control of the situation, it was the last handhold he had left. "So long as there is evidence that I am no longer compromised, my rank still stands."

"And where _is_ this evidence?" Hojo wasn't even looking at Sephiroth. He was glaring daggers at the man in the doorway. Who _was_ Valentine, to have earned such ire from Hojo? Hojo did not _hate_ anyone. Most people were too far beneath him to even be noticed, "You have only given me the word of an unconscious man—one known to sympathize with traitors. Not the most reliable of sources. As for _you…_ "Hojo sniffed derisively, but did not continue.

"The reactor is littered with monitoring equipment, as you know, professor." Valentine was staying surprisingly calm, despite Hojo's jabs. He merely straightened, and stepped to the side of the door, "You may judge for yourself. I have already made the appropriate back-ups. You may wish to have your guards apprehend the fugitive before he regains consciousness."

"DIRECTOR." Hojo corrected with a scowl. He waved one of the Turks forward, and called for the one that remained in the helicopter. The thwooping of the whirling blades died as the engine powered down, a third, helmeted Turk taking the step out of the helicopter. Smaller. Slighter. Female. "Trust you lot to not secure the criminal properly. Just remember that this waste of time was _your_ doing, little girl." He suddenly spat at Tifa, who'd hesitantly stepped out of the way to let the first turk—a scarred man with dark hair—toward the reactor's entrance, "You side with a murderer, and deny your _friend_ medical attention you so _insisted_ they needed."

"Enough." Sephiroth growled. He was growing tired of _all of this._ "Leave the civilian out of this, and go play with your machines. We will discuss this when you are not insisting on challenging my authority. It isn't like we have the capability to _leave."_ Not now. Definitely not for the mountain, if the climb down was anything like the hike up.

Hojo sniffed again, and stalked up the stairs, although he hesitated as he passed the narrow threshold between the ramp and the entryway, giving nervous glances toward the stone-faced red-eyed man who watched him pass.

It suddenly hit him. Hojo didn't _hate_ Valentine.

He _feared_ him.

"Valentine," Sephiroth sighed as the white labcoat vanished inside the darkened portal, one blue suit remaining to guard the entrance behind the Director. The female. "I would speak with you."

With a careful glance at the remaining Turk, who was blatantly staring at him at this point, the red-eyed marksman lept from his perch, landing cat-like on the stone ground beneath it. He paused momentarily to exchange a quiet word with Tifa—the civilian was trembling after Hojo's accusation, and while she flinched at the initial contact, she ended up looking significantly calmer before he moved on.

And then he approached Sephiroth, who sagged back against the stone behind him. A heavy weight almost felt like it was dragging him down, but he refused to concede that much. Valentine stopped a few paces away. Close enough to speak, but distant enough to allow Sephiroth his space.

"I understand you treated my men." Sephiroth pulled words from silence first, "Where are they? What are their conditions?"

"We moved them from the reactor," Valentine tilted his head toward Tifa, who'd given up her defensive posture and backed down some, kneeling next to a shape sprawled in the hollow she'd been guarding. At first Sephiroth wondered why they would have been moved, the thought getting caught up in the jumbled mess of his mind—Hojo was finally gone—but eventually decided seeking shelter was better than leaving vulnerable wounded in enemy territory. Valentine waited a moment, but moved on when no further questions were incoming. "Fair is weak, and suffered severe burns, but he will live. Kunsel was not physically wounded, but has yet to regain consciousness for more than a few moments."

" _Why_ is he unconscious?" It wasn't adding up. Kunsel was a SOLDIER. Unless Genesis had cast a sleep spell on him—

"I arrived after the fact," Valentine shrugged, "Mako crystals indicate exposure."

Which…would explain it. Sephiroth nodded wearily. Another thing he couldn't do anything about. "Genesis?"

"Unconscious and restrained." The other responded curtly. Short and to the point, Valentine's style of reporting gave Sephiroth the oddest impression he was addressing one of his own SOLDIERs. One of the more disciplined ones. "We left him in the inner chamber. The professor will have a means of keeping him docile."

More likely than not. Especially if he had come with the intent of transporting an injured SOLDIER. Pain-delirious SOLDIERs could be dangerous. Sephiroth pushed away from the stone, sucking in a breath as it flared the fire he was trying to ignore. Something shifted, sending waves of extra pain through his shoulder. It forced him to stop in his tracks. What was _that?_ Shoulder wound, he cataloged, but there was no obvious tear in the borrowed cloak he was wearing to indicate a blade wound. Nothing beyond the tiny rips— _left by hundreds of thorns wrapping around him, squeezing, suffocating—_ dislocated maybe?

"…There is one person you did not ask after."

Sephiroth looked up, frowning. "The girl?"

The marksman shook his head.

"I am not in the mood for games, Valentine."

The dark shadow stepped forward.

"Broken arm. Broken rib. Multiple lacerations from tiny bladed implements. Mutation. Both physical and mental trauma resulting from extended exposure to a hostile and highly unstable influences. You are in an even worse state than when I found you before."

_Mutation?_

The word rang in his mind, but he pushed past it. _HE_ was the one in charge here. Not Valentine.

"My injuries. Do. Not. Matter."

He could still move. He could still fight if he needed to.

A careless shrug, "Suit yourself. I will not carry you onto the transport if you overdo it."

He tossed a small metal device at Sephiroth, who caught it with a little effort. A standard issue PHS sat in his hand, a text message flashing on the screen. An older model, so not Zack's, but definitely ShinRa issued. Kunsel's?

An acknowledgement of an SOS. An ETA.

They would be gone before Hojo managed to pull himself away from the surveillance equipment. It would be far easier to deal with the Director when they weren't helplessly in his power.

But…

"I won't leave Genesis."

Not with him.

He owed his old friend that much.

"You will."

Sephiroth scowled at the response. "I will not. You don't know what Hojo—"

The intensity of that red-eyed glare stopped Sephiroth in mid-sentence. "I have back-ups of the surveillance records. The Turks know this. Genesis will not _vanish."_

He then turned away. Sephiroth almost missed the mumbled words.

And then he was gone, the conversation finished. Sephiroth put his back to the stone again, letting it support him, watching the retreating dark figure as it crossed the short distance to the knot of Tifa and unconscious SOLDIERs. A small, dark shadow fluttered out of the sky, settling on the marksman's shoulder.

Sephiroth took a shuddering breath, and then pushed himself away from the stone one last time, using a trembling hand to brace himself against the roaring fire the motion kindled. He took a step. Then another, toward the girl and her charges. He had to _see._

Something heavy _pulled_ at him, hindering his movement and yanking on the knot of pain in his shoulder and upper back, fanning the flames of healing mako. Sephiroth hissed and turned, eying the strangely deformed folds of his borrowed cloak, warding off most of the cool mountain air.

And then froze at the black shape that spilled from the red mass. Sephiroth's searching hand met feathers, dislodging loose ones to tumble to the ground around him, joining a myriad of others he hadn't noticed against dark stone.

" _Mutation."_

Genesis with a single dark wing. Angeal with a single white one.

" _That's…Seph—That's degradation!"_

And now Sephiroth with a single, useless, broken wing.

x-x-x

Vincent politely did not turn when he heard the sound of crunching rock. Likely from the SOLDIER's good fist. Displays of frustration were somewhat understandable.

" _I would not wish my fate on anyone."_

His earlier statement echoed in his mind, drowning out the demon's whispers for a moment. Seeing Sephiroth—who he was now certain was Lucrecia's son—he couldn't help but feel as if he failed. He'd confronted Hojo with the intention of sparing her and her son a life of experimentation. He'd been freed only to learn his torment had been in vain.

But, they had made it out alive, somehow. That was a start. And Vincent wasn't normally one for optimism.

Especially not with _Hojo_ so close.

His demons hissed with pleasure as his thoughts returned to the scientist, who was _oh so close._ And vulnerable. Vincent tried to push away their proffered images of tearing the man apart with his claws—or even just putting a bullet through the man's eyes—but they were quite tempting. He'd attempted to make the man see reason once. Nothing had appeared to change in the last two decades other than some grey in his hair and a new title.

_Director indeed._

Gast had been ten times the man Hojo had been. If anyone would have been Director, it should have been he.

 _So kill him_.

The lesser demons quieted, but Chaos' intentions were quite clear. His claw tightened around the grip of his weapon. But he forced himself to relax. Vincent could feel Chaos pressing against his will. He had to stand firm.

The same reasoning that had stayed his hand upon first seeing the professor was still valid. _He_ was the most capable right now. The one responsible for their little band of wounded. If he let himself give in to the whisperings…

He had blurry memories of the tests. Of wings and claws and dark magic. He didn't think he'd be able to keep Chaos in check should he act on his hatred.

_Caw._

The sharp noise sounded in his ear, a quick jolt of pain snapping him out of his internal brooding. He turned a disapproving glare on the too-smug bird on his shoulder. Loki was innocently preening his glossy black feathers, but Vincent could almost imagine he could hear the bird's laughter.

The whisperings faded, as they always seemed to when something else occupied Vincent's mind.

The bird on his shoulder finished preening and then shook his wings, blinking up at Vincent innocently.

The marksman shook his head, and then paused, hearing the crunch of approaching footsteps among the loose stones that littered the valley floor.

The Turk was approaching, a second had relieved her post near the door. That meant the third was likely standing guard over Genesis. He was sure he could take on two if need be. But she wouldn't have made _that_ much noise if she'd intended on attacking.

"What do _you_ want?" Tifa came up beside him, having noticed the woman's approach.

"To talk." She responded. Her voice was oddly distorted by the flight helmet, but she pulled it off, dirty grey hair spilling out from underneath. Vincent couldn't help his mild surprise. Female turks were one thing, but hair _that_ long had been against regulation in his day. She balanced the helmet under her arm, "He called you Valentine, didn't he?"

Vincent remained silent.

What she read into the silence, Vincent couldn't tell, but her brown eyes studied him. Carefully.

"What of it?" Tifa responded in a huff. The turk ignored her.

"Veld still has a picture of you. He never did believe the reports of your death."

_Veld._

His partner, and in some ways, his best friend.

"You _worked_ with them?"

"…a long time ago." Vincent finally responded to Tifa's incredulous question. He didn't take his eyes off the Turk however. "This changes nothing."

"This changes everything. The Director _lied."_ Her faint smile was dangerous, "I will need to report this."

Vincent shrugged. ShinRa politics were no longer his concern. Lucrecia's son was right now. And later…

Later perhaps he would settle the score with Hojo.

His demons purred in the back of his mind.

Another sharp jolt of pain as Loki pecked at him again, although this time it was at his shoulder. Vincent didn't glare at him—best not to draw more attention to the bird—but it did drive the demons back again.

Again.

…was it on purpose?

Come to think of it, they had been surprisingly quiet when he'd been watching the reactor in the summon's company.

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Valentine." The Turk seemed satisfied with whatever she'd come over to learn, "I thought you'd like to know that no one has broken your record in training, yet."

A jaunty wave and she retreated, returning to her partner near the reactor door.

"…what was that about?" Tifa seemed somewhat lost.

Vincent just sighed.

"Politics."

The director's hold on the Turks was tenacious at best, if her attitude was anything to go by.

" _We don't leave people behind."_

The Turks take care of their own. Veld's philosophy. But he also believed in the mission _first._

"They will not bother us, unless we jeopardize their mission." Which was likely to guard the Director. Which meant any thoughts of revenge would have to _stay_ tabled. For now. He turned his back to the reactor, "Help me prepare the injured for transport. We need to be ready to leave as soon as the plane arrives."

x-x-x


	29. Memories

 

Flashes. But familiar flashes.

-

Mother’s scarred arms, broken glass painting her blood across the floor. Blood that should have been his. _He_ wouldhave healed. All he could do was watch as she was rushed to the hospital. Helpless and cursing what a stupid _selfless_ human she was.

-

Crying. A baby crying. Where was the baby?

…who was the baby? The crying quieted, allowing him to hear a faint lullaby. A soothing one that lulled him to sleep.

-

  _“These are my terms, do you both agree?”_

 ‘ _Not far enough…’ Hiei muttered as the flashes of memory halted. Everything dissolved. The overwhelming green mixed with other colors. Red and purple and grey. The gnarled trees of a Makai forest at night._

_-_

_Kuronue!_

The ache of loss was a real one, dragging at him even as he ran. A hungry forest at that, kept starved around the demon lord’s estate to discourage visitors. His spoils for the night were a heavy burden—was it _worth_ Kuronue’s _life_?—a pendant, the chain wrapped around his wrist so tightly that he half wondered if it was cutting off the circulation. The laughing golden fox face stared up at him, winking at him every time he passed through a patch of moonlight.

A treasure of Inari, held in the clutches of a particularly revolting, yet rich demon lord, it had been a sure-fire heist from the start. Youko might not keep company with his kind much, but he still revered their mother, and the fact that the man had been _boasting_ about his uncrackable security…

Well, he’d begun planning that very night.

_‘Too far this time.’ Hiei growled irritated. Everything began to blur—No!—Kurama latched onto the fuzzy image. It cleared; the scene resuming as the fire demon shrugged and released it._

His ears twisted, picking up a faint whistle of air. He jerked, ducking, will twisting his body even as the black-fletched arrow thudded into the tree. He caught the pendants’ chain in his jaws as he landed on four paws, five tails twitching as he scented the air. Where was he, where was he…?

He bolted in the other direction, his much smaller true form able to find passages in the thick and gnarled underbrush that his full-sized humanoid form wouldn’t be able to. Anything to slow down the pursuit. Kuronue had _told_ him to run. To escape.  He needed to get away; they’d meet back up at the den later, laughing about the close calls and have another trinket to stash in his hoard—

—only he wouldn’t see Kuronue again, would he? The scene flashed before his mind, his friend’s broken body impaled on bamboo spikes, the approaching shadow of the hunter.

The very hunter following him now, the true star of the lord’s security, even long after they’d managed to break it.

Leaping, bounding, scrabbling under grasping branches, lashing out with his youki when the local foliage moved beyond merely trying to delay him to actively trapping him…

He snapped at a particularly hungry tree, the limb recoiled as if it had been burned, untangling its twigs from where it had tried to catch a tail. The concentrated youki shimmered around him for a moment, golden, but then he withdrew it again. Too much, and a skilled seeker—which the hunter _was_ to have followed and set that trap _ahead_ of them—would be able to find him again.

Eventually his questing sense found an end to the malevolent mindless hunger of the forest, and he dashed toward it. There was _no_ way the demon could have followed him through that maze of brambles, especially since the trees would have been more than happy to have _him_ for a meal, and he could make them leave him alone.

He broke out of the trees into a grassy bank, running water rushing nearby. He consulted the map he’d memorized before the heist, placing him on the western edge of the estate. Good. He could follow the river for a time, erase any scent trails, and then cut through the swamp. It was unclaimed territory—unless you talked to the local croc clans, but Youko planned to avoid them—and was large enough to get lost in easily. Then he could slip away—

Ear twitched, whiskers quivered.

Youko dove to the side, rolling in an uncomfortable heap through the tall grasses.  A series of black fletched arrows quivered in the grasses, the shaft driven half into the ground from the force. Where had that—He dodged another incoming, immediately following the flight path.

Webbed black wings were silhouetted against the stars and moon. A _bat_ demon.

Youko let out an annoyed huff, careful not to drop the trinket. Of _course_ it was a bat demon. _Nothing_ _else_ could have followed him through all that. One of the reasons he’d teamed up with Kuronue in the first place was his ridiculous senses, especially at night.

And knowing Kuronue…the only way to lose a bat demon was to outsmart them and survive until morning.

Glaring at the bat demon, Youko flicked his head, throwing the loose chain about and twisting until the pendant settled comfortably against his fur. He needed to make for the river, and he didn’t wish to drop it on accident.

A rain of bolts came from the sky, and the chase was on.

-

 _“Are you done?” This time Kurama didn’t protest as Hiei gently took control again—surprisingly gently_ , _sifting through the memories with the care of someone sorting through the strands of individual spider webs. Things were blurred and quick, flashes. Shards of emotion and exhaustion and pain, flitting through the warm darkness of his drowsy mind._

_-_

Struggling through the water, long into the night, listening intently for even the slightest sound of wind in wings.

_-_

Sopping, shivering, the cold penetrating even through thick fur. Huddled under the heavy fronds of marshland ferns, listening for the squelch of disturbed mud and the click of a crossbow.

-

Panting, he ran away from the sound of fighting, the screams and bestial yells of the crocodile demons. The chaos of the battle as the two patrols met should cover his retreat—maybe even drag his hunter into the fray. Maybe he could get away, find a hole in a tree and curl up for the night, wait out the couple hours remaining until morning—

Maybe he was too tired. Maybe he’d been careless, thinking escape was close at hand…

He didn’t notice the bolt until it pierced his chest, looking down at the wicked barbed head that protruded from once silver fur, slowly turning red and matted with fresh blood. Splotches of it glimmered wet against the gold pendant nestled against his chest.

He staggered, one paw missing a step in the slick mud. He teetered, and then rolled the rest of the way down the slope, once silver fur covered in muck and blood as he plunged into the cloudy swamp water.

-

A tall shadow slipped from the gloom of the dense trees and lingered on the edge of the water, but nothing surfaced again.

-

Everything was dark. Hazy. But there were voices. Arguing voices. His thoughts were scattered—could he understand the voices? The words—if they were words—sounded just out of hearing. Or maybe a language he didn’t know.  He tried to sit up, but nothing would move. Paws—hands—limbs—nothing. Nothing responded. There was nothing except for the distant voices and the fading pain in his chest.

 _Arrow wound._ Youko thought numbly. Was this it? Was he dead? Were those voices two of spirit world’s incompetent spirit guides meant to make sure he passed on properly? Or maybe one was Kuroune. He could imagine Kuroune’s ghost hanging around to scold him for dying. He would probably pick a fight with the ferry girl just on principal. Youko had plans for this. To distract the guide and disappear, find a refuge for his soul and heal. Kitsune souls were hardier than others, and adaptable…

But he was so _tired._

“ _Ah. You’re coming to.”_

The voice shattered the darkness, a jolt of energy—snapping him awake. The darkness gave way to— _green._ An all-encompassing soft shining green light, not the yellow sky of the spirit world. Or the purple red of the Makai dawn. Something was standing before him. A grinning red fox mask, the traditional mask, inverted.

Youko let his eyes drift closed again. So. He _was_ dead. Had to be if he could see one of Inari’s messengers. He didn’t _feel_ dead, just…detached.

“ _Oh yes. Quite dead, I’m afraid.”_ Had he even _asked_ that out loud? At least the Spirit World’s guides _tried_ to be delicate about it. Not that they often came into the Makai, a ferry girl was a spirit, and many demons considered spirits quite a tasty snack. He rubbed at the fading pain in his chest, half expecting his claws to come away painted with blood. What had been a sharp, mind-numbing pain was now nothing more than a persistent phantom. He could clearly remember his silver fur stained rust brown, mixed with swamp muck, and the barbed tip of a crossbow bolt glinting in the moonlight. “ _You must be causing such chaos in the bureaucratic office—they even sent a guide to pick you up! The look on her face when I stole your soul away—”_

The mask shuddered with a dark chuckle, shadows coalescing out of the green mist. Four paws, a twisting mass of tails. Youko hissed as a sudden pain ran through his body, starting from a burning around his neck, only increasing as the grey bulk grew. He couldn’t _breathe—_ but wasn’t he dead, why would he need to breathe—he clawed desperately at his neck , at the burning, grasping cold metal links, only to have it spread to his palms. Youko jerked them back, eying the fading scars etched into his palms. The silvery silhouette of chain links stared back at him, just as silver-pink chains shimmered in the darkness, hanging from the bottom of the kitsune mask in loops that almost looked like some odd necklace. They wound around the fox’s neck, down the paws before fading into the indistinct shadows. The color of both the burns on his hands and the chains on the mask were _quite_ distinctive. A miko’s seal. This was no messenger. Kitsune generally wouldn’t draw a miko’s attention. And he’d gotten mixed up in it.

“What _are_ you?” Youko managed to speak once the burning faded. Inari’s messengers weren’t bothered by miko, as they were protected by divine favor. Nor did they have a taste for souls. Some kitsune lived off human reiki, but youki was usually incompatible—“Nogitsune?”

If it was even a kitsune. For all he knew it could be a shapeshifter, and gained the fox-like characteristics from the youki it had drained from _him._

Youko wanted to pull away as it approached him, but he couldn’t summon up the strength to move. A faint light shone through the eye slits of the mask, no longer translucent, but solid and as real as the energy it had sucked from him. “ _Oh please. I’m not going to **eat** you. That would be poor repayment for what you’ve done for me.”_

“You have such a _generous_ way of showing gratitude.” Youko muttered, gingerly poking at the heavy weight around his neck. It no longer burned, but he hissed in pain and shook his hand as the action released stinging pink sparks. A necklace. He followed the chain, wrapping his claws around the familiar laughing fox head…

The amulet he’d stolen.

“ _So you realize.”_ Even the mask couldn’t hide the fanged grin in the voice. _“Only the blood of my people would have weakened the seal enough for me to act. As for my **gratitude…** ”_

The grinning red mask was inches away from him now, “ _I’m going to offer you a **choice.**_ **”**

_“You can **help** me, and I’ll see to it you are returned to life. Your body is dead, but your soul is still fresh, another could be found. Or…I can drain all of your youki and leave you adrift for the spirit guide to find. Dead and processed. Back to where you started.”_

“This isn’t a choice.” Youko narrowed his eyes at the mask, an inversion of the white and red that was usually the traditional ritual mask, “It is blackmail.”

 _“We all do what we must.”_ The shadow fox mused, _“However, it would behoove you to decide quickly. I cannot begin the next step without consent, and the spirit guide won’t wait long. I do not think you’d like to meet the things that are drawn to a freshly dead demon’s soul.”_

“You know there is only one answer.”

Life or death.

 _“Excellent.”_ The fox spirit turned his back to Youko, threw back his head and howled to the strange green abyss, _“I, Kyuubi, first child of Inari, seek an audience with the Lifegiver!”_

The chain on his neck began to burn, a dull heat rather than the raging flames of earlier, but Youko was too fascinated by the scene before him. The placid green mist that filled the place suddenly whipped to life, spinning and dancing around the shadowed, masked spirit. Some of the darkness was drawn away, some, but not all. Enough to see the nine-red furred tails curling around the spirit, fur that should be the same blood red as the mask. Even more of the silver-pink chains dug into the demi-god’s incorporeal fur that had once been covered in shadows. A _powerful_ miko’s seal.

A powerful seal for a powerful demon. Kyuubi, a name only whispered in legends. Inari’s first, and oldest of the Kitsune. Considered a demi-god by some, defeated in ages past by the human world’s first band of legendary demon hunters, before the Spirit World erected the barrier and forbid passage between the worlds.

_I hear you, child of blood and death,_

A woman’s voice, a calm amongst the fury of the storm.

_I know your request. But you know my answer._

_A sealed god has no power to give._

_“The situation has changed!”_

The mists stilled, and then coalesced, forming a shape in the depths of the leaf green swirl of energy. A golden haired woman in matching armor, flowing white robes moving in with the lazily spinning mists. The ambient green light gave the entire picture an eerie, unreal quality, reflecting in the highlights on her hair, on the edges of the impeccably polished white armor. He face was beautiful. Perfect. But stoic.

_“I can see that.  This is highly unconventional.”_

_“But it would **work**._ _If you understand my plan, then surely you know it would solve your complaints—”_

_“He is a **mortal**.”_

The finality in the last word was so palpable that it stopped Kyuubi’s pacing in mid step. The large fox’s expressive tails curled defensively around him. The previously confident demi-god—who’d loomed so large and confident when they were alone, suddenly seemed like a small puppy before a disproving master.

Whatever Kyuubi wanted, this woman was the one he had to convince. She was the one holding all the power. All the strings. And if her frown was any indication, she did not like whatever Kyuubi was laying out.

“ _Is **that** the only complaint you have, Minerva?” _ Kyuubi suddenly barked with laughter. “ _Are the stories true? You_ _are afraid of **that** happening again, aren’t you? You felt sorry for the girl, and she burned you. She took your gift and burrowed so _ deep _you couldn’t rid yourself of her—”_

 _“ **Silence.”**_ The word _thundered_ through the abyss, echoing despite having nothing to reflect the sound. It rang through Youko’s sensitive ears in a painful peal, leaving them pressed uncomfortably against his skull. Despite them arguing over _him_ of all things, he felt oddly detached from the conversation, as if something were trying to pull him away. “ _You are the one coming to **me** for help, fox. Reminding me of my misjudgment does not help your case.”_

“ _S-sorry.”_ Kyuubi chuckled, “ _But you worry unnecessarily. He is bound to **me**_ _first_ **.** _This contract is mine. ”_

 _“Yet he will be the one to pay the price, should I consider your proposal.”_ Those cold green eyes drifted, landing on Youko’s silent form with the heavy weight of judgment, almost like a pressure against his back, making him want to sink to the floor. “ _What say you, mortal? Or are you content to let us decide your fate?”_

And that just annoyed him. He was a _thief._ Youko Kurama didn’t care if he stole from a common D-class demon, or the prince of the spirit world as long as they had something he _wanted._

And if Kyuubi was telling the truth, this woman was the one chance he had of getting what he wanted.

 “I would know what my fate would be.” Youko refused to look away. Refused to let her cold, unwavering expression force him to back down, “I was promised my life for my aid, but I wasn’t told what would be required of me.”

“… _If I were to consider it…”_ She began slowly, a lighter glowing green flashing in her eyes, bringing the twitch of a frown to her lips. “ _You would become his proxy. My aid requires a period of service. As he is, Kyuubi cannot fulfill the terms.”_

 _“Service?”_ Youko narrowed his eyes, “Like a favor?”

 _“In a way. However, you have little time to decide. There is a point when even_ **_I_** _cannot help someone.”_

Meaning his time was slipping away.

“Fine. ”

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. He could handle a favor, if it meant he’d stay alive.

 _“Very well, I accept your proposal.”_ The words were directed to Kyuubi, who’d been watching the exchange nervously. Her cool green eyes remained on Youko, however. Something red glittered in between her cupped hands, a tiny spark of light. _“I will take your oath as a promise. Your body has died. It will take time for you to recover enough to be useful. Once you recover your power…then you will be called. These are my terms, do you both agree?”_

She held out the red light, a tiny point floating above her open palm. Kyuubi made a move forward, and then hovered. Waiting.

 _“You are the one I am binding, Youko Kurama.”_ The woman reminded, “ _Not him.”_

Meaning he was the one who had to take it. Fine.

Youko placed his clawed hand in hers, curling it around the light. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, “I agree.”

Something _odd_ shifted in his palm. Something _crackled_ , suddenly sharp, uneven edges pressing into his palm. A crystal of some sort?

Kyuubi’s shadow shifted, red energy crackled and filling the air, tugging on clothes and hair and causing the fur on his tail to stand on end. Pink energy sparked from the  chains.

And then they _shattered._

Everything was fading in a spinning haze of green and red and black. The chains around his neck were burning, scattering thoughts in a haze of pain

 _“What made you change your mind?”_ Kyuubi’s voice was fading. Youko never heard Minerva’s answer.

x-x-x

Hiei withdrew from the whirling vortex of the fox’s mind, turbulent even under the influence of the Jagan. He stood over the bed, looking down at Kurama’s pale face.

And met the wide green eyes. Damn. He’d hoped he wouldn’t wake up.

“…would you have done it?”

The question was whispered. Kurama’s desperate gaze shifted away from him, towards the ceiling, and then closed tightly, blocking out the world. Hiei didn’t need his Jagan to see the storm raging through the silence right now. The whirling questions and answers than only served to spawn more questions.

Given a choice between life and death? Hiei would have probably chosen the same. It may have been blackmail, but he would have taken the god’s  responsibility. If he’d died…

He would have never fulfilled his mission. He could have never found his sister.

Kurama didn’t try to call him back as Hiei made for the window. The fox probably wanted some time to process everything, and Hiei had a godling to go threaten.

If this _Kyuubi_ was still alive, Koenma would know how to find him.

Hiei paused as he heard a sound from behind him. A frustrated exhale. The fire demon turned, easily picking out the fox’s shadow in the darkness. The fox was sitting up now, back pressed against the wall. Fingers buried in his hair, the streaks of silver among red _could_ have been a glint of reflected moonlight.

But even in the shadows of his bangs, Hiei caught the molten gold growing among the normally calm green. He hesitated—unsure if he _should_ leave… The rare times he was angry, the fox did have a tendency to allow his youki to leak, but never did it cause physical changes. Not without that weird mist from the tournament.

“ _Just_ _go.”_

The growl wasn’t a request. Hiei frowned, catching those oddly hazel eyes as the fox glared sharply at him.

Then he turned away abruptly, leaping out of the open window and into the night. His sense of Kurama’s youki faded as he left the perimeter of the property, and the concealing wards the fox used to mask his presence in the human world. Faded, but still there. Hiei frowned, pumping a surge of youki through the wards to strengthen them, feeling the brighter than usual flame finally vanish from his senses. Odd. Yet another question…

This…Kyuubi had much to answer for when Hiei found him.

_x-x-x_

Cloud was only vaguely aware of his mother’s arms around his shoulders, of the abrasive grumbling of the blond captain, of the press of townsfolk who’d stopped their work to observe the scene, or the chill mountain air as it worked at drying his still damp hair and clothes. But his attention was mostly on the crystalline facets digging into his palms.

“ _Damn fool of a boy. Risking both our necks for jewelry!?”_

Not just jewelry. Cloud wasn’t sure _exactly_ why, but there was something _special_ about the pearly white conch shell on an old rusted, broken chain. The river had led him to it, tugging him along, an excited child beaming with pride as it revealed the treasure it had squirreled away in a small crevice far downstream.

Something told him it was _old._ So old that the pile of red shards upon which it laid for so long had fused around it, a setting that had flared to glimmering life the moment he’d reached down to touch it. He’d seen this before…

His nightmare. 

Shards. Shards scattered in pooling blood.

Some of the odd pressure had eased then; the force driving Cloud forward waning. His knees had buckled, only for the blond pilot to grab him by the arm, forcing him to stay upright.

_“C’mon. Let’s get you out of the damn water and back to the damn town.”_

But…he liked the water…

It had almost felt like an old friend…

Grey eyes. A small smile. An outstretched hand.

“Come on, Cloud,” His mother pushed him gently away from the crowd of people, “Let’s get you dried off.”

x-x-x

“Where the hell did my plane go?!”

Not that it actually _was_ his. But that was beside the point. Cid was the one in charge of the efforts. The supplies on that cargo plane had come from Rocket Town. He was allowed to be ! &%@ing displeased if he damn well wanted to.

After slogging through a damn flooded canyon for hours and then _finally_ managing to drag the little brat back without getting half the river of water thrown into his face, the last thing he wanted was his news that work had all but stopped because the goddamn SOLDIERs had requisitioned his _goddamned_ plane.

“I’m sorry Captain!” One of the carpenters he’d brought from Rocket Town—what was his name? Niel’s son. Ah hell, Cid didn’t keep up with all the kids—was the unfortunate bearer of the news, “We’d finished unloading everything except the heaviest building materials when the call came in, and they said they had injured. Director Hojo had already left with the Turks so we had no choice but to send the plane.”

_Goddamn it._

“Fine.” Cid grunted, trying to rub away the ache he could feel building in his temples. He needed a damn smoke. He was getting too old for this !&%@, and he wasn’t even forty yet. “Just give me the damn radio. I’ll talk to them myself.”

Need to transport the injured? _Fine._ But Cid was going to make damn sure they stopped in town before continuing on to Cosmo Canyon or Costa del Sol or wherever the hell the closest medical facilities were. They needed that lumber if they wanted to get the winter-ready shelters set up in time, and he didn’t trust the company to send any more help.

Plus he could send the damn kid along with them. He knew his mama wouldn’t like it, especially with the way she’d been clinging to the brat, but there was something _off_ in that boy’s head. He was a SHINRA private. The least the company could do was look into it.

“That won’t be necessary, Captain.” The radio operator (at least he knew _her_ name. It was…uh…Mari--something. Shera liked invite her over and steal his best tea. Irritating women.) responded when he’d finally hunted her down. The portable radio had been set up in one of the few undamaged homes just in case of freak rainstorms—goddamn storm hadn’t been natural. He was sure of it.—“We received confirmation less than half an hour ago—they will be stopping here briefly for the trooper on the way back. If we assemble a team to unload before they arrive, we should be able to finish clearing the hold before they are ready to depart.”

Well !&%@in’ fine then. He stomped off to prepare. For once he resented the efficiency of his staff. How was he supposed to relieve some stress when there was no one to yell at?

!&%@. Why did he have to lose his cigarettes in the !&%@in’ water…?

x-x-x

Vincent couldn’t help but sigh when he saw the angry captain stomping up the cargo ramp of the hold, some sort of mountain reed clenched tightly between his teeth. Tifa immediately rushed passed him, drawing the occasional confused look, but the majority of the workers swarming the hold seemed focused on their job. Vincent had heard the pilot say they needed to finish unloading some supplies and he’d been concerned by the time that could potentially take.

He did not want to be in Nibelhiem when Hojo realized his prey was gone.

“Who the hell are you?” That the middle-aged captain made a direct shot for Vincent was hardly a surprise. “Where are the SOLDIERs?”

“Vincent Valentine. Turk escort.” It was a simple enough lie, and one that generally would _stop_ people from asking questions. If the woman at the reactor had her way, the rest of the organization would know soon enough anyway. “As for the SOLDIERs…they were injured. I’ve been tasked with overseeing Trooper Strife’s relocation and the unloading.”

“You don’t look like a Turk.” Captain Highwind grunted, eying both Vincent’s black clothing and conspicuous golden gauntlet. “Whatever. Look. I was gonna give this lecture to the bouncy First Class, but you _better_ pass on the message _._ There’s something seriously wrong with that kid, Strife.  While you lot were commandeering my plane—“ Vincent kindly refrained from mentioning it was the company’s plane, ”I spent an entire three hours hunting that brat through the mountains, where he’d managed to _wander_ off after supposedly being bedridden. _Through a half-flooded canyon_ , I might add. He needs help, and I’ll be damned if I let you suits sweep him under the !&%@ing rug.”

That sounded like a story. “Strife was recovering from a severe case of mako poisoning, captain. Hallucinations are common.”

“!&%@ hallucinations!” The captain spat, “There was some seriously weird !&%@ going on. The brat threw half the river at me before I agreed not to interfere with his hairbrained hunt. _Threw._ And hell if I know how, but he found something out there, in some deserted crinkle in the canyon that I’d be damned if I could find again. During none of that time did he ever even _look_ at me. Or say a word. Just this creepy glowing glazed stare, and dogged persistence until he found the damned necklace.”

And…that was not what Vincent had expected. At all. He was careful to keep his face neutral during the captain’s rant, even if the contents of it had him growing mildly concerned. He hadn’t been there for the boy’s initial recovery, but Kunsel had mentioned his condition, and Tifa had been nervously chatty on the flight back. “I will…pass on your concerns.”

Perhaps _not_ to the medical department, as the captain seemed to want. Such _interesting_ official reports and medical records used to have a bad habit of finding their way to the Science department. Since it seemed Hojo was now Director…it likely hadn’t changed a bit. He would inform the SOLDIERs once they recovered enough to be coherent. Even Sephiroth had dropped off into an exhausted sleep once they’d gotten loaded onto the plane. Likely wanting to forget the physical reminder of what had happened to him.

Vincent understood that desire. He’d slept for decades after his life had fallen apart.

“You’d better!” The captain growled, chewing violently on his reed, “I will be following up on it. The kid needs help.  I will not have him getting lost in the shuffle of three high profile injuries.”

And then he turned on his heel and stalked away, stopping to bark orders at a pair of workers who were loitering to the side of the pile. Vincent watched the retreating back of Captain Highwind. That…hadn’t gone how he’d expected it to. He’d expected anger at their use of the plane. Not…such passionate concern.

Perhaps Captain Highwind wasn’t as prickly as he tried to lead people to believe.

A nice thought, especially about one working for ShinRa, but it _was_ merely a thought. Like most that deviated from his current mission at hand, Vincent quickly filed it away, focusing instead on retracing the route he’d seen Tifa take. Across the square, to her home. Before he’d left to guard the reactor, the majority of the injured had been taken care of there.

Tifa was waiting for him upstairs, where a pale-faced blonde woman sat on the bed, her hand a white knuckled grip on her son’s arm. He sat on the bed beside her, oblivious, admiring an odd assortment of red crystals in his palm.

The moment Vincent stepped into the room, the boy—no more than 16, judging from his size—suddenly looked up, oddly glowing grey eyes staring in Vincent’ direction, head tilted quizzically. Yet he said nothing.

Vincent assumed it was a common occurrence, and instead turned to Tifa and the woman. The test subjects he’d seen fall into mako poisoning had been able to react to changes, even if they couldn’t process it. They’d both gone even paler at the movement (if it were possible for the mother) but Tifa remembered why Vincent was here, and left the bedside, crossing the room quickly. “You aren’t going to let me go with him, are you?”

Vincent shook his head. They’d discussed it on the flight over. “Your strength will be needed here.”

She was strong, Vincent had no doubt about that. But eventually the extra people would return to Rocket Town, and Nibelhiem would be left on its own during the brutal winter. Someone with the strength and courage to brave the mountains and monster infested lowlands would be invaluable when the snows came.

“I know…” She hunched her shoulders. She’d known without him saying it. She just needed someone to convince herself. “Just…tell him to write us a letter. When he gets better.”

Inwardly amused by the fact that he seemed to have gotten saddled with a messenger role, Vincent nodded. Tifa exhaled slowly and turned away, placing her hand on the mother’s shoulder and speaking quietly. Vincent waited patiently, politely ignoring the conversation, watching the progress of the unloading through the window. They still had some time.

Would he even be around when they got better?

Hojo knew about his awakening. The Turks knew about his survival. He should be getting as far from the company as humanly possible. Perhaps even begin planning Hojo’s…removal.

But…

Thinking of Lucrecia’s son, who he had saved, and seen torn apart by the legacy of his mother’s research. Thinking of Kunsel, who’d managed to keep a level head and keep the town together despite the terrible disaster. Even thinking of Tifa, who’d managed to stay calm and hold off two Turks and a contemptuous professor, without back up while he secured Genesis and the surveillance data…

While he might have to leave eventually…he was going to stay close. For now.

Even if from the shadows, once the others recovered. He didn’t much like leading, but what was there to do with both Kunsel and Fair injured, and Sephiroth…indisposed.

“Okay…he’s ready.”

Tifa tapped him on the shoulder when he didn’t respond right away. An iron will clamped down on combat reflexes, turning fluidly to face her. They’d gotten the young man to stand, Tifa holding him gently by one hand, offering it to Vincent, “Mrs. Strife says he’s very…docile.” Her voice hitched, but she took a deep breath. Composing herself. She really did care for him. “He’ll follow if you lead. Just...move slowly. It’s almost like he’s asleep.”

Yes…it did both look and sound like the test subjects Vincent had witnessed before his…altercation with the professor. Awake, yet not registering. Wandering around as if in a distant dream. They hadn’t seemed to register pain. Perhaps that was why their minds had retreated so. The experiments…had not been kind.

Yes, he could understand the Captain’s worry quite clear now. However the means of his poisoning, or the relapse…this youth was very, very far away. Perhaps too far for ShinRa to justify bothering to treat a lowly trooper.

Luckily, what he’d learned of Kunsel and Fair, he was sure there was no way they would let that happen.

Vincent took the boy’s hand—he wasn’t that small, really. Just the thin gangly frame of a boy who’d not yet found his growth—and watched as the boy drifted forward at a small tug, head tilted slightly. Listening? Vincent couldn’t hear anything more than the distant commotion from the yard, and the mother’s stifled sobs.

“I will inform you upon any changes.” Vincent ducked his head in a small bow and prodded the trooper along, closing the door behind him as Tifa wrapped her arms around Mrs. Strife comfortingly. He closed his ears to the quiet whispered comfort and the mother’s soft crying. That was another reason why Tifa needed to stay.

He led the dreaming trooper down the hallway.

“…whispers.”

That…had been too close. Had someone come up behind him?

Vincent turned, only to find unfocused grey eyes staring up at him. Why _was_ he looking at him? He hadn’t seemed to respond to either Tifa or Mrs. Strife. Yet…

Yet he’d looked up as soon as Vincent had entered, and even now, those grey eyes followed him.

Going out on a limb, Vincent paused, “…pardon?”

The boy’s head tilted. “The whispers. I can’t understand them.”

He didn’t say another word as Vincent led him away, but neither did he stop trying to listen.

x-x-x


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Didn't realize I hadn't posted this chapter here!
> 
> Sadly I've been hitting a writing block with my longer works, which is why there hasn't been an update here. I've been poking a handful of shorter stories but...
> 
> Well... No idea when things will get back around to Stepping Stones :

# Chapter 30

 

“Don’t you people _ever_ make an appointment?”

Hiei grunted. Koenma sighed, shuffling his papers into something resembling a pile, and sweeping the open books to the edge of his desk. Obviously he wasn’t going to get any work done now. Getting Hiei to attend mission briefings was difficult enough as it was. He _never_ visited of his own accord.

That likely meant this meeting was going to be one of _those_ ones. Maybe he should just call George and have him fetch one of Koenma’s favorite lollipops. He was probably going to need it after this.

Or maybe he just needed an emergency lollipop button. Yes. Right under his desk. It felt like he found himself wanting one more and more often as of late.

“Well?” The godling tapped his finger on the semi-cleared surface of his desk. Waiting. He didn’t have much time to spare, his father’s quarterly audit would be happening soon, and he _still_ hadn’t figured out what to do with England. Or Minerva. And then there was even the thing that Genkai wanted him to plan. And that was on top of his _normal_ duties.

He definitely didn’t want his father to find out _why_ one of his Spirit Detectives was on probation. Not without having figured out what to do about it. The entire situation just didn’t make _sense_! He had Botan tracking down a possible lead—if anyone would know about it, the fates would, but those sisters hardly showed themselves unless they wanted to, even at the behest of the (working) Lord of the Spirit World.

“Kyuubi.” Hiei stepped forward, red eyes narrowed and fists clenched, “Where can I find it?”

…was that all? Hiei was hunting down an _artifact_ at a time like this? Frustrated, Koenma waved vaguely in the air, “Why would _I_ know? The last time the Spirit World had a lock on that necklace it was somewhere in the Makai. Don’t tell me you came all this way to ask me _that?”_

“Not the necklace. The god.”

“Kyuubi hasn’t been counted among the gods in _ages_.” Koenma grumbled, rubbing his temples to try and stave off the headache he could feel building. Just remembering the time wasn’t pleasant. No one knew what had set off Inari’s son, but the nine-tailed fox had cut such a swathe of destruction through the mortal world that his father decided to forcefully split it in two, the last in a chain of events that led to the creation of the Makai. “His mortal avatar was killed, and his soul was sealed by a human miko, and vanished. Surely you know the story.”

So many people died. Not only from the killings themselves, but from the famine that followed after. Inari was the goddess of rice as well as foxes, and in her fury and grief, crops all over the human world withered and failed. He hadn’t been old enough then to _run_ everything like he did now, but the workload had been so great his father had been forced to bring him in to help process them all.

“Hn.” Hiei’s dismissive grunt wasn’t what Koenma expected. He looked up in time to see Hiei’s fist uncurl, a small clear crystal with a cloudy center sitting in his palm. With a flick of his wrist, Hiei tossed it at the godling, far slower than he normally would have, since it gave Koenma a chance to actually catch it, bouncing it awkwardly between his small palms.

…a memory crystal? They were common practice for the Spirit World’s informants—how else could he have neat little videos for his briefings?—but where did Hiei get one? Scratch that. The fire demon _had_ been a thief once. It probably hadn’t been difficult to nick one from the storerooms.

“Do I want to know where you got this?”

The fire demon just snorted. Koenma studied the energy trapped within the crystal—he’d need to use one of the readers to actually access whatever information was contained within the crystalized spirit energy, but the colors usually gave a clue to where it came from.

Gold was usually youki. But there were wisps of blue if he looked hard enough. A mixed-blood then? They were unusual enough…but why would Hiei bring one to him?

“What’s on it?”

“Kurama’s contract.”

Kurama’s—Koenma stared incredulously at Hiei, and then back down at the crystal. He knew the energy signatures of his own detectives. Kurama’s was the usual blue of human spirit energy, with the gold of his demonic energy threaded subtly through it. This was the complete opposite.

“He wasn’t the one to make it. He merely agreed to pay the cost.” Hiei said at last, crossing his arms and scowling, “Watch the memory for details. Now I’m going to ask again— _where would_ _Kyuubi be?”_

The last line was more of a growl than a question. Koenma’s small fists tightened, the edges of the crystalline facets digging into his palms.

_Kyuubi._

He had been _right_. Minerva didn’t deal with mortals.

But she would deal with a _demigod._

“Kyuubi was Inari’s favored child…” Koenma began slowly, “If he managed to escape the miko’s seal, he would probably return to her—Hear me out, Hiei!” Koenma’s voice rose to near glass shattering levels as Hiei immediately turned away and began to head for the door, “Let me go through the proper channels! Messing with a godde—HIEI!”

The door slammed shut, leaving Koenma alone with his worries, and a small filled memory crystal. Damn it.

Hiei had less of a track record than Yuusuke for pulling stupid stunts, but the fire demon had fewer scruples about what he wasn’t willing to do. Why was Hiei so invested in this situation? Was it because it involved Kurama, who was the only person other than Yukina he seemed to tolerate willingly?

Or was it as simple as having been involved since the beginning, and had come to consider it a personal affront? Minerva had indirectly attacked him when she broke his wards that day in Koenma’s office.

Hell if Koenma knew. He just made a note to be prepared to handle the potential damage control. At least one good thing had come of this.

“George! I need a viewing machine!”

The shrill shout through the phone would have his ogre receptionist scrambling. Koenma settled back into his chair to wait, sucking thoughtfully on his energy storage device (not a pacifier, thank you.) Knowing the details of the deal would help his case with his father. And maybe he could work out something with Inari…

…and he’d always been curious about Minerva. The stories said she was quite the _lovely_ lady…

x-x-x

Kunsel awoke to nauseated confusion. He rolled onto his side, clamping down on the bile rising in his throat the best that he could. The blankets draped over him resisted the motion—damn. Had Zack convinced him to go out drinking? Sometimes Zack didn’t realize Kunsel couldn’t handle quite as much alcohol as he could. He eventually pulled free of the resistance, groping in the vague direction of his bedside table for his helmet, eyes squeezed shut to save his pounding head from the blinding glare of the overhead lights.

…why had he left the lights on?

Nothing. A rough wood surface met his searching hand.

…he didn’t _have_ any wood in his apartment. Wooden furniture was a premium in midgar, since it had to be imported from beyond the wastes.

…this wasn’t his apartment.

“Ohoho. It’s good one of you are awake.” The thin, elderly voice came from somewhere to his left, a faint hum (machinery?) growing louder as it approached. An _unfamiliar_ voice. Kunsel forced his watering eyes open—so bright, so damn bright. Everything was blurred, the wavering motion of the world only adding to the contracting in his throat. His bangle was a familiar weight around his lower forearm, he wasn’t unarmed. He could reach the materia if he needed to.

“Calm down, young man.” The voice came again, drawing Kunsel’s blurry vision to a small splotch of…green and purple at the end of the bed. “You’ve been exposed to more of the planet’s spirit energy than your body was accustomed; you need peace. And rest. Only then will it calm enough to settle.”

The lights don’t help with that. Kunsel thought bitterly, but considered the man’s words, pausing over the use of ‘spirit energy.’ He knew the term, having come across it during his research into the summon creatures. But it was only used it one place. By _one_ accredited scientist, even if most of the students of mako sciences considered him a crackpot.

And where did he get exposed to _mako_ of all things— _“I don’t have the magic to waste on you.”_ _Muffled by spears of ice. Machinery hummed. Neon green crashing down. Shelter turned into a trap. Frozen fire raging through the world. He couldn’t think—_ Kunsel shuddered, a hand tentatively reaching up to touch the phantom sensation of burning ice. Rough, raised edges met searching fingertips.

“Mmmm yes. There is some minor scarring from the burns along your shoulder and face, I’m afraid.” The old man must have noticed the motion, because he responded shortly after, cheerfully “But nothing disfiguring! From what I understand subtle facial scars are considered quite fetching on warriors these days.”

…Genesis. Genesis had done this. Pushed him back into the flooding mako container. Someone else had dragged him out.

“…the others?”

His voice felt almost rough against his throat, but as the memories filtered back through the confusion Kunsel felt the concern building. He didn’t care about scars. They were the least of his worries, and he _usually_ wore a helmet anyway—damn he wished he hadn’t lost his though, it might have spared him. Better scars than…what happened to Hollander.

“All in one piece, more or less.” The old man mused…bobbing… closer. Kunsel’s vision was slowly getting used to the light, although it was still painful. He was much…smaller than he’d thought. The little man was balding with more salt than pepper in his hair and beard, dark sunglasses, and floating on a curious little orb device.  He was currently stroking his thick beard thoughtfully “The younger first class—hmmm...Fair was it?—is currently under an intensive Restore materia regiment. Sephiroth conceded to letting me splint his arm, and the young private isn’t wounded at all.” The older man had a small smile on his face, “I notice you haven’t asked who I am yet, or where you are.”

“Spirit energy. Buganhagan.” Kunsel shrugged, and settled back against the pillows. And that he had the medical facilities and the license to operate on a SOLDIER. Cosmo Canyon did not have the resources of Junon, or even ShinRa’s outpost at Costa del Sol, but it was the nearest, licensed emergency medical stop for the western half of the continent.

“Ohoh.” The old man chuckled, “You are an observant one. I had thought modern science disregarded my theories years ago.”

“I’ve done some personal research…”

Overall, it was reassuring news. That Zack needed a _major_ restorative treatment was worrisome, but it also meant he’d survived. They’d all survived. No mention of Tifa, or Genesis, but he would need to ask Sephiroth or Zack about that most likely. As soon as he felt like he could get out of bed without his legs collapsing.

But…where was _Loki?_

The eidolon’s snarky voice hadn’t intruded on his thoughts even once since he’d woken up. Considering his last memories where of Loki putting him to _sleep_ … unless something had happened to interrupt the summoning. He hadn’t had that happen since he found the damn orb.

Buganhagan continued chatting with him for some time, Kunsel listening with interest, even if he couldn’t add much due to the …classified reason for his knowledge. He’d always been interested in visiting Cosmo Canyon, but had never had the chance.

But every now and then he’d glance down at the bracer on his arm, at the false green cap concealing the summon materia. He could still feel the miniscule magic drain…but where _was_ he?

\--

Clang.

Metal against stone echoed through the room. A knock on the stone outside the doorway. Sephiroth ignored it, sitting with his back to the doorway, staring out the window into the sky, painted reds and oranges of Cosmo Canyon’s famous sunset. It would have been beautiful, if it didn’t remind him of blood.

He’d watched the cargo plane slowly vanish into the north western sky just hours before, on its way back to Nibelhiem. He wished he were still on it, at least then he could have a cabin door he could lock, rather than the thin drape that acted as the privacy barriers to the inn’s guest rooms. He only had that flimsy cloth between him and everything else.

“I’m coming in.”

Especially since _someone_ didn’t seem to understand that he wanted to be left _alone._

He could hear the rustle of cloth as that person pushed passed, the scrape of metal boots crossing the smooth floor. It wasn’t long before Valentine came into view, the red light from the sunset highlighting the edges of his gauntlet. Held carefully in those sharp claws were—Sephiroth grimaced. “Buganhagan already set it.”

The marksman just gave him a flat stare—which was very odd. Was that how _he_ looked to others?—and set the supplies on the empty space next to Sephiroth. Bandages and gauze were one thing, but there was also a long, thin sheet of plastic? “Not your arm. You refused to take off the cloak for Buganhagan. You have other injuries.”

“No.” Sephiroth had been purposefully trying to forget it was even there. It had been difficult, but he’d been able to bind his ribs himself, even with one arm in a sling. They ached, but the burn of the mako assured him at least that was being taken care of. Unlike the useless growth attached to his shoulder. “There is no need.” Genesis’ wing could be manifested at will. The opposite must hold true. And if it didn’t… He was good at ignoring pain. Once they returned to Midgar he would just have someone amputate it.

“…you are a warrior.” Valentine crossed his arms, frowning down at Sephiroth. Seated on the bed like he was, the marksman towered over him. This man had the unnerving effect of making him feel like an errant child. Sephiroth hadn’t been a child in a _long_ time. “You know the consequences of an untreated injury.”

Not only pain, but distraction. Infection. Mako healing an injury wrong. Sephiroth _had_ seen cases of SOLDIERs pushing themselves too far, ignoring or not reporting injuries to receive the proper medical attention. He’d even _scolded_ them himself. There were many reasons, usually _pride_ …

Sephiroth shot Valentine an irritated glare, but with a frustrated sigh he reluctantly conceded the point. He used his uninjured arm to shrug the red cloak off his shoulders, freeing the twisted black feathers onto the bed. The air was unusually chill on the bare skin of his back, the faint throb of pain he’d been ignoring suddenly flaring into immediate agony, but he refused to let it show and give Valentine the satisfaction of being right.

Luckily, the marksman did not say anything, merely moved toward the other side of the bed. Sephiroth refused to watch as he examined the wing, focusing on the sky outside the stone window. The phantom feeling of fingers on the appendage almost made him shudder, even as the prodding made the pain pulse with each touch.

Just…

“Chop it off.”

Valentine paused. Sephiroth could feel the weight of the marksman’s heavy gaze drilling into the back of his head.

“…no.”

Sephiroth tried to jerk away, but Valentine’s grip tightened in response, the resulting waves of agony had Sephiroth hissing in pain, fingers twisted into the cloth covering the bed. “It’s _my_ choice.” He shot a glare over his shoulder. The marksman had _no right_.

“It won’t work.” Valentine wasn’t even looking at him anymore, those red eyes focused on the black feathers spilling across his lap as if Sephiroth had never interrupted.

“Why not?” Valentine’s probing touch made the damand come out sharper than he’d intended.

Sigh.

 “…you’d risk further mutation as the infected cells attempt regrowth.” The words were reluctant, delivered in such an artificially disinterested tone that Sephiroth _knew_ it had unpleasant memories attached. “Activated J-cells are anything but stable.”

Sephiroth swallowed a grunt as the feathers pressed against his skin, that unnatural point behind his shoulder, just off the center of his back, aching with both unfamiliar and unused muscles, compounding on the already constant pain of the fracture. He pointedly looked away while the marksman folded the useless growth against Sephiroth’s back, following the first rule of field splints that even Sephiroth knew. Immobilize the limb. Fine. Whatever. Splint the damn thing.

“Can you hold it?”

Sephiroth grimaced, but the alien muscle tightened instinctively, causing the marksman to hum in approval and begin the binding. The silence stretched. The spiking pain fluctuating as the pressure on the wing increased with each wrap of the gauze. The plastic sheet was slipped between the fold, and sturdier bandages began the dance again, binding the padded fracture to the support. To distract himself from the marksman’s work, Sephiroth finally asked one of the questions that had been nagging at him “…how do you know what to do _?_ About _that_. _”_

Sephiroth had known about degredation. He’d seen the changes to Genesis. He’d heard from Zack about…what happened to Angeal. Mutation wasn’t new to Sephiroth, as someone who’d grown up in a lab setting, yet he _still_ couldn’t accept the fact that this was happening to _him._

“…I asked the stable boy about treating chocobo fractures.”

Sephiroth turned his head sharply at the deadpan statement, frowning at the marksman over his shoulder. Red eyes lifted, catching Sephiroth’s own steady for a few moments, the binding faltering. It hung in the air. Like a stooping hawk, moments before the dive.

“…mutation was common in the early trials of the Jenova project.” Valentine’s murmur was soft, and Sephiroth studied the marksman’s carefully blank face. The pressure on the wing increased, as Valentine lightly bound the joint with a cross-like pattern to prevent movement—had he asked for a full-on demonstration from the stable boy? The movements were incredibly precise—but the pain was no longer overwhelming, becoming more like the dull, much more manageable pain of his properly splinted arm. “A splinter project focused on metamorphosis. I have seen…similar situations.”

 _Early trials._ _Jenova project._

Hojo told him his mother’s name was Jenova. JENOVA…

_Jenova._

_He was caught in glowing red eyes and he couldn’t look away._

The pressure eased as Valentine was satisfied with the tightness of the splint, pulling back and setting the mostly spent bandages to the side, inspecting his work. “Will you be able to hold it indefinitely?”

Valentine’s question shooed the troubling thoughts away like a soft breeze scattering smoke. Sephiroth considered the wing. After the initial folding and the discovery of that unknown muscle…it seemed content to stay that way, nestled against his back. Like the resting position of a chocobo.

…it was easier to think of it that way, as undignified as it was.

Sephiroth didn’t answer directly, merely reaching down to pick up the discarded cloak. Valentine’s cloak, although the marksman hadn’t protested Sephiroth’s continued use of the garment. It was tattered. Burned. Ruined as a result of the…incident in the reactor…

But it concealed the wing for the most part, and that was all he cared about right now.

Valentine stood up as Sephiroth got the cloak settled, silently gathering the odd bits and pieces that hadn’t been used in the splinting process. Sephiroth had expected it. While Valentine seemed to be infuriatingly fixated on making sure Sephiroth took care of himself, he wasn’t the type to hang around when the job was done.

“Another thing…” The unexpected words caught his attention again, “Kunsel has awoken. I’d arrange to speak with him when you can. You should consider what to do when the Turks report their findings.”

That was something he’d been turning over in his mind since they’d arrived at Cosmo Canyon. He didn’t _know_ what the Turks would find. He didn’t _know_ what orders would be waiting for them once they reached Costa del Sol.  It was difficult to predict given Zack was the only one who actually knew what happened in the reactor, and Cosmo Canyon didn’t have the equipment available to review the surveillance tapes Valentine had procured. All he had to go on were Hojo’s words— _will not be pleased you decided to follow Hollander’s trash!—_ that he should be removed from command.

And…Valentine had gotten Hojo to back down. A question was nagging at Sephiroth now, one he’d been too distracted to consider at the reactor, all things consider. Just who _was_ Valentine? Even just now, he’d admitted to knowledge of the early trials of the Jenova project.

Metal boots scraped along the stone floor. Valentine was leaving.

“Wait!”

They stopped. Sephiroth found himself standing, facing the marksman who was nearly to the door.

_What was he doing?_

 “What else can you tell me about my—the JENOVA project?” His mother’s name was heavy. It almost caught in his throat, but he forced it out in a tumble of sounds. 

_Mother will always love you._

A thought that once had been accompanied by a childlike longing, now only made him recoil in disgust and horror. Zack’s rattling attempts to breathe echoing in his mind. The blood of his friend and subordinate spilling onto his hands. He _needed_ to know why it happened. How. So it would _never_ happen again.

Valentine’s normally stoic face _noticeably_ hardened. Red eyes flicked uncertainly toward the flimsy privacy curtain between the room and the inn.

“…not…as much detail as you would like.” Valentine admitted carefully. “Before my…introduction to the splinter project, I was retained as one of the guards for the facility. The project was originally begun by Professor Gast as a means to study the remains of an ancient being. Hojo sought to replicate the creature’s extraordinary healing abilities within a human specimen…” Valentine wasn’t looking at him anymore, staring down at the golden armor of his gauntlet, examining the play of light across the metal surface, “It was discovered that the creature’s cells granted more than just regeneration. Increased physical and magical abilities. Far beyond the scope of the known human baseline.”

“The SOLDIER project.” Sephiroth flinched, the taste of bile tart on his tongue. This was sounding familiar to what he’d received in his briefings on _Hollander’s_ activities. Valentine nodded.

“The results were promising—inhumanly powerful fighters. An undefeatable army with which to conquer the remaining areas of the world…only the introduction of the cells, and proximity to the source eroded the mental stability of the subjects, or encouraged rampant mutation of the specimen.”

Sephiroth didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t. He could feel the cracks spreading, the fragile peace he’d been clinging to slowly eroding. But Zack had almost died because of whatever had happened in the reactor room with his mother’s name on it. Sephiroth couldn’t afford _not_ to know. Especially when it had the chance to…affect him like it had in the reactor. The source…was— _Mother—truly_ that _thing?_ The crystal etched monster that seemed to linger crisp and clear where nothing else did. Nothing save for Zack’s dying face.

“When…it reached the point they were willing to subject it on the unborn child of one of the researchers…I couldn’t stand by any longer.” Valentine shrugged, “I was…removed from duty and…reassigned to a different area of research.”

Subjecting it on children. Project G. Project Gillian. Angeal’s mother. Project J. The Jenova Project. _His own mother’s name was Jenova._

_Mother will always love you._

“…you weren’t just a guard, were you?”

A simple guard wouldn’t have paid attention to the shifting power structures or the politics between researchers. A simple guard wouldn’t have invoked that _fear_ in Hojo’s eyes when he saw him in front of the reactor. He knew Hojo’s tendencies better than anyone. A simple guard would have been disposed of, and forgotten. Hojo only _remembered_ the important ones.

Valentine didn’t answer. “If you are interested in the scientific details of the project, Kunsel may know. I found him in the laboratory’s library before it burned.”

And then he was gone.

 

\--

Kurama paused in the entryway, in the process of slipping his shoes on. His school bag was a heavy weight on his shoulder—why was he even bothering to go? It was routine, and his mother would be concerned if he didn’t.

But…maybe she was concerned anyway. She was standing in the hall door, all dressed and ready for her recent part-time job, yet still in her house slippers. She was normally gone before he left for school. Was he that early? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t sleep last night. It had just all blurred into a chaotic primordial soup of memories and worries until he just decided he had to _get out._

Kurama really did hate mental intrusions, even if they were invited or performed with the best of intentions. Hiei had been careful, but that sort of delving had consequences. It knocked everything loose. Maybe it was a good thing he was early. He could go to the park for a few minutes before first bell. Try and clear his head.

“Suuichi?”

“Yes, mother?” It was easy to keep his melancholy out of his voice, defaulting to the polite attention he’d cultivated over the years. It wasn’t even an act, most of the time. Unbidden his eyes drifted away from her face to her arms, to the faint white scars peaking out from the crisp lines of her jacket.

_Such a stupid selfless human._

Broken glass littering the floor, the evening sun shining through the kitchen window stained the edges with a firey glow to match the blood pooling beneath them. Shards that would have barely broken his skin for more than an hour, even as a child.

“…did you hear me, Suuichi?”

“I’m sorry.” Kurama ducked his head, focusing his attention on the wooden grain of the floor paneling instead of the scars, “I’ve been…distracted this morning.”

Distracted was an understatement.

“Morning?” She sounded…worried. “Suuichi, it’s already evening. Are you feeling well? Is that why you didn’t go to school?”

…what? Kurama stared at her, and then spun, checking the clock hanging on the in the entryway. He hadn’t seen it wrong. It _was_ before 7 but… He quickly catalogued the windows he’d passed as he’d walked through the house. The light _had_ been on the wrong side. It just hadn’t registered.

Damn. He _was_ out of it, and now he’d gotten his mother all worried.

He sighed, turning back to her. “…yes. I wasn’t feeling well. I thought I should run an assignment over that was due today.”

“Concerned about your grades?” She smiled at him. It was supposed to be reassuring, but it only seemed sad. She crossed the small space to rest her hand on his upper arm, “I’ll call the school in the morning. I know you are worried about the application, but you should just rest tonight. Have you heard anything?”

…application? Oh. Right. Another one of the lies. “Ah, no. But they said I should know before the term is done.”

A prestigious school. A study abroad opportunity to the Makai that might never end.

He could probably talk Boton into delivering the occasional letters from the Makai, to support the lie. At least for a while. He hadn’t planned after that.

“You’ll be fine dear.” A comforting squeeze on his arm, and then she brushed at his bangs like she used to do when he was a child, tucking the longer locks behind his ear. Kurama forced himself to still the instinctive flinch as her fingertips barely missed the stock of partially sprouted seeds clinging to the strands with dainty roots, “With your record, one missed day won’t change anything.“ Her smile faltered for a moment, and she pulled closer—almost uncomfortably closer. She _was_ his mother, but even she didn’t come so close to him anymore. Not since he’d grown. She threaded her fingers through his hair, separating a handful of strands from the rest, “Have you hit your head recently?”

He frowned, and then carefully shook his head, “Not that I can recall?”

A sharp tug, the brief sting of pain in his scalp, and she had a short strand of hair held loosely between her thumb and forefinger. Kurama felt his stomach lurch at the silver shimmering in the hallway’s dim light. He’d bottled up his youki. He _knew_ it. He knew his own energy, it was locked down as tight as he could keep it after last night.

But the silver still winked back at him.

“I think you’ve been worrying too much, it’s been known to turn your hair grey.” His mother joked gently and swooped in for a hug, “Now, come. Take your shoes off. I’ll make your favorite for dinner, okay? We haven’t been able to talk much recently, with you out so late… It’s wonderful that you are taking an interest in tutoring your friend—Yuusuke was it? That boy does seem like he might need a helping hand now and then…”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he wasn’t hungry.

\--

The air was chilly as Aerith stepped into the dream. The rough stone beneath her sandaled feet was odd, used as she was to the packed earth of her home. But even more than that was the _sky._ She turned her face to the sun, in awe of the clear crystalline blue that surrounded her, bordered on all sides by the distant purple shadows of what could only be mountains. She’d only ever saw the sky in books, or in dreams, save for through the cracks in the plate that allowed her flowers to grow, or in the narrow corridors of the upper plate. Never so wide. So expansive.

So…free…

But…this _was_ just a dream…but it wasn’t her dream.

The stone plateau stretched out before her as she dragged her eyes back to the earth, scanning the edge of the large canyon before her. She’d been called here…

Ah. There. The edge of the plateau was a crack in the world. White structures spiraled out of drab grey stone, the sunlight gave the shell-shaped structures a pearly sheen, setting the crystal clear lake at the center of the little village sparkling with thousands of tiny stars. As lovely an image as it was…the sight of it only stirred a sense of sorrow deep in her chest. Her mother’s voice murmured in her memory, wordless, as memories from that age would be, but charged with the familiarity and longing of a child who had been alone for far too long. Stories she barely remembered, ones that had her briefly touching the tiny cool materia nestled in the twist of her braid…

And this was getting depressing, wasn’t it? Aerith shooed the feelings away like a persistent gnat, annoying, but overall powerless. She hadn’t been called here to brood over someone else’s dream. She turned away from the oddly hypnotic view, and instead approached the only muddled image in this otherwise crystal clear recollection.

“Mind if I join you?”

The blurred lines shifted, sharpening slightly into an image she found more familiar. The boy she’d rescued from the lifestream stared back up at her curiously, but he was…off. He wasn’t a drifting spirit this time, anchored properly, so that was a positive, but there was still something that…unsettled her.

Cloud’s response was a soft pat against the rough stone beside him. Aerith took the invitation, automatically arranging her dress properly as she folded her legs beneath her. It may be a dream, but that was no reason to act improper!

She had to be the one to break the silence again, a companionable one, but silence wasn’t what she’d come for. Cloud’s attention was rapt on the empty structures below, so she decided to start with that. “This is such a lovely dream, Cloud.”

“Isn’t it?” Cloud looked away for the briefest moment, smiling at her. But his vision inevitably was drawn back to the pearly view, losing that moment of focus. Aerith frowned, feeling him slip away. Just a little bit. Not drifting, no, but the fact that she could even _find_ the dream was troublesome. Most people didn’t dream so _close_ to the lifestream. “But…I don’t think it’s mine.  It feels sad.”

“I’m afraid you’re probably right.” Threads of melancholy were weaved into this dream, familiar in a way she couldn’t _quite_ put her finger on. And then there was a distinct _lack_ of something that should be here. Cloud hadn’t been the presence she’d been seeking, the one that had reached out and nudged her while she’d been enjoying a quiet dream in her meadow. “Where’s Kohaku, Cloud?”

For a brief moment, everything froze, a shudder running through the weave of the dream surrounding them. The previously spotless sky was filled with clouds, dark and heavy with rain, casting the pearly city into shadow. Even _Cloud_ was affected, lines and colors blurred and distorted, almost like the image on her mother’s television when there was a particularly nasty storm going on above the plate. Fuzzy. His colors were off.  And his face…

And then it was gone. The sky just as clear as it had been.

“Who?”

Cloud’s face was curious, but the reaction—which was the longest she’d seen so far—did nothing to calm her worries. Especially since for that one brief moment, he hadn’t _been_ Cloud, she was sure of it.

“Don’t you remember? He came to pick you up when you visited me.”

The boy began to shake his head slowly, feather blonde spikes bobbing in the slight wind. Then paused, looking down at the closed fist resting on his knees. Something wet landed on Aerith’s head, a quick glance to the sky had it growing a little darker, the impression of faint thunder rumbling in the distance. A stray raindrop? She’d been caught up on the plate during a shower before, but usually the weather’s whims didn’t mean much in the Slums. This dreamscape was odd. And then there was that odd impression that the dream _wasn’t_ Cloud’s, despite the fact that he was _quite_ grounded this time, and in no danger of drifting into the lifestream as he’d been when she found him last…

“I _am_ dreaming, right?”

 “Of course.” She smoothed her skirts, “I couldn’t be here otherwise, you know. I have never left Midgar that I can remember.”

“I…can’t tell anymore.” She almost couldn’t hear him, “Was the river a dream too?” His fist uncurled, and a small pile of glittering shards caught what light managed to filter through the gathering stormclouds. The wind was steadily picked up, tugging insistently on her bangs, and she could even feel her much heavier braid shifting against her back. The weather was somewhat of an afterthought as she studied the slivers of red.

_My Oathstone is broken._

…yet he had felt so much like Cloud. A summon’s energies mingled with their summoner’s…yet always remained grounded to the materia. She’d had plenty of time to observe Zack interacting with Ammy, even _before_ he had given her the materia.

 _What if the materia was gone_? She could still sense Kohaku’s presence in the Lifestream, one of a handful of presences too distinct to be human, yet too tied up with a human life to be one of the ancestors that spoke to her.

 _“_ Cloud…” She caught his attention again. “Would you mind…if I called him?”

She was careful not to say the name. Names had power, especially for those not from this world.

Clould’s knuckles were turning white, the shards leaving pale markings against the boy’s skin. She could see the confusion in the frown. He remembered her. If not her name or her face, he remembered how she felt. She had seen it when he’d first noticed her for the first time. Seen the dawning recognition, seen how he relaxed. He registered her as _safe._

Given the responses to even hinting, he _had_ to remember Kohaku. And something about that memory was _not_ safe.

 _Sorry, Cloud._ Aerith thought, as she reached for the quiet power that was always at her fingertips. The power to hear…and _call_ if she wished. There was something wrong here. She took a breath, the gentle, cradling consciousness of the Cetra delivering the information she sought, the name of the entity tangled up with the human before her. “ _Nigihayami Kohaku nushi._ I wish to speak with you.”

The sky tore open, the looming storm coming crashing down around them. Cloud doubled over, grunting and curling on himself, the edges of his body blurring again, shifting. Oh no no. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him! She tried to take back the magic, but it was too late, rippling through the dream around them.

With a muffled, pained cry, Cloud’s unclear dream form shattered into shreds of mist, leaving Aerith alone on the now drenched plateau, the shards he’d been holding falling to a clatter to the stone. She shivered against the cold wind and wet fabric, pushing to her feet and whirling frantically around. Water. Wind. All rushing down at her in a pandemonium of sound and sensations she’d _never_ experienced before, sheltered by the Midgar plate even by the worst of the summer storms. There was no shelter here. Empty air behind her, flat stone before her. No where to run. Or hide. She clung to the only thing familiar--she could still feel Cloud’s presence, mixed as it was with the roaring magic that swirled around them, crashing through the sky in a rumble of noise she knew intellectually was thunder, but was nothing like the far off rumble that was the most the Slums ever heard—

The wind-driven water stung at her eyes painfully, but she kept searching. The once beautiful view was shrouded by pouring rain and raging clouds, blocking off even the distant purple silhouettes of the mountains from sight. It almost seemed as if the world had contracted, narrowing to the small sphere that she could still see.

“Cloud!” Thunder crashed directly overhead, ringing in her ears, sending the entire world vibrating with its force. She took an instinctive step back, irrational fear triggering a sudden desire to _run_ —only to have her foot meet nothing.

_The edge._

A hand swirled out of water droplets, catching her by the arm and yanked her sharply away from the plateau’s edge. The rest of the body condensed out of the falling rain, catching her even as Aerith stumbled forward into the shorter boy’s chest. White silk broke her fall, somehow undamaged by the pouring rain.

 _“That name is tied to power here.”_ At least the polite tones were familiar, and carried clearly through the raging storm, even if almost nothing else was. The Kohaku who’d retrieved Cloud had been…smaller. A young boy. Not even a teenager yet. This one… “ _Invoking it is something that should be done warily, even by a dreamwalker.”_

 She allowed herself to be pulled further into the plateau’s center, the rain easing with every step away from the canyon—

And then with one step, it _changed._ She was standing, soaking, on wet, spongy earth before a pool of water, rippled occasionally by the drizzle that manage to seep through the leaves overhead. She stared, almost dumbfounded at the trees with their thick trunks and tall canopies, nothing like the little, neatly kept trees that decorated main thoroughfares above the plate. Was this was a true _forest_ was like?

Mist curled around her feet. The water rippled, and then surged upward, spraying drops _everywhere_ and nearly succeeding in soaking her again. A head rose from the water, attached to a long serpentine neck. Aerith almost turned and ran, her nerves shot by the _strangeness_ of this dream, but then stopped, recognizing the presence of the beast.

“…Kohaku?”

 _…just Haku will do._ The words weren’t so much _words,_ but she understood them all the same. White-scaled forelegs settled on the edge of the pool, claws digging into the moist earth, but didn’t pull the rest of his body free from the pond. Instead, that long neck stooped, so the great head was at her eyelevel.

“Haku then.” Aerith agreed, stepping back a few paces, not out of fear, but so she could see him better. With the storm of magic settling down, she was beginning to calm her racing heart. Slowly. This might have been too much for one night. “You…didn’t look like this before.”

 _I am as you see me._ The dragon responded with a soft snort, long white whiskers twitching with the exhaled air. _There are…complications with the form you may be more accustomed to. I felt it wasn’t wise to use it without some explanation._

Complications…

“Where’s Cloud?”

She could still feel him…but only faintly. Such as before, where she’d felt Kohaku’s presence only ambiantly, but Cloud had been _right there…_

_That is the reason I called you, Aerith. Your goddess does not seem to consider the consequences for those she uses…_

Goddess…? Ammy had mentioned a goddess in passing—the Lifebringer—but… _Consequences?_

 _I have no longer have an oathstone to tie me to this world. My contract was fulfilled. She offered me a chance to watch over him._ A frustrated snort, the gust of wind rippling the long thin whiskers, _Had I foreseen the consequences, I might have chosen otherwise._

…Cloud and Haku were sharing the same _dream._ They felt different than when she’d first met them, something just the slightest bit off, that she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Even now…

…he still felt like Cloud.

 _An Eidolon requires an anchor in this world, and she made_ him _mine. Cloud is no dreamwalker. His connection to the spirits is nothing like yours. Nowhere large enough for_ a _spirit of my status_. _She_ tore _it open._

…the roaring power in the storm. The power than had answered when she’d called his true name.

…The power that had torn Cloud apart.

She sunk to her knees. She could still see Cloud’s dream self being reduced to ribbons of mist spiraling out of her frantic grip and into a sea of angry wind and sky. She’d done that. She could still feel him, yes, but was he…? She’d been clinging to the fact that this was a dream, and that yes, his presence was still here… “What have I done…?”

 _“…peace. He is merely aside for a moment. However,_ I do need your help to try and fix this mess. _”_ Those were sounds. _Actual_ words. She looked up, meeting with calm grey eyes in a _human_ face. Blurred, as if two images were being overlaid, but it _was_ Cloud’s face. His hair wasn’t anywhere near as reminiscent of a chocobo, slightly less gravity defying, and the wrong color, but it was _Cloud_ she was looking at, not the sharp-eyed quiet boy who’d retrieved him from her church. “I’m afraid we are getting.. _._ tangled up, for lack of a better term. I was able to keep it to a minimum for a time, but… Cloud picked up on one of my Nightmares and things…escalated.”

“…what can I _do?”_ She wanted to help. Wanted to make things right. But what could she do? She was in Midgar. She didn’t know where Cloud was. She didn’t even know where _Zack_ was, and he’d probably be the only person with the connections to find out—

…no. That wasn’t true. Her blue suited shadows might. But would going to them make it better, or worse?

A gentle, comforting hand landed on her shoulder, a soft pat, “For now...I merely ask you to help me with the stream of spirits. He is…rather susceptible to their influence and without that interference…it should be easier for me to strengthen the difference.”

“You can’t act on your own?” He seemed more than knowledgeable about the situation than she was—even her knowledge on the lifestream was limited to what she’d carefully managed to explore and what her ancestors deemed important enough to tell her. They were always a quiet, reassuring buzz in the back of her mind, more coherent during her dreams, but for the moment, they’d been fairly quiet. Waiting and watching, not teaching.

A small nod was her answer, “Even without an Oathstone, I am still considered an Eidolon; my ability to influence is minimal without my name being invoked. The situation has just gotten…a little more personal.” Aerith took his offered hand and brushed the earth from where it clung to her dress. As she stood, she caught a quiet sigh. She decided to pretend she didn’t hear that. His sadness was seeping into the dreamscape surrounding them, the already muted colors of the dreamscape going just a twinge greyer. She was now more sure than ever—this dream was his as much as it had been Cloud’s. “Everything will be okay, right? You and Cloud and…everything?”

She had known about summon beasts, of course. Everyone did. But until Ammy…she’d never actually _met_ one. Ammy was the sun. She was bright and kind, but get too close and even Aerith knew she would be burned.

_Shattered into shreds of mist…_

She shuddered. That image was going to haunt her. If Haku was right, Cloud had just gotten the sun trapped _inside_ him.

…and he expected _her_ to be able to help with something like that?

“There are more…permanent methods, but none that we have the resources for right now.” He took a step away from the pool, that odd double vision worsening as he motioned for her to follow, “…come. I’ll show you the worst of the damage.”

It’s not like she could walk away from this, but the dread weighed her down as she followed not-Cloud, but not-quite-Haku away from the misty pool, a veil of thick fog lurking beyond the edge of the trees. Haku paused at the edge, bits of green-tinged mist detaching from the thick wall and trailing from his fingertips. She could _feel_ it now, where she hadn’t before. Aerith was used to a faint lifestream’s glow on the very edge of her dreams, an even fainter feel of it the few times she’d accidently wandered into her Mom’s dream. But…never like this. It looked thick, but diffused. And beyond it…

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but there was something daunting beyond it.

Haku made a slashing motion with his hand, cutting through the veil as if it were solid, the mists dissolving away to show a shattered sky. Bright green spider-webbed through the blue-grey clouds, with wisps of lifestream seeping from the fractures and then falling to the ground in a spotty rain. The heaviest concentration was forming a glowing pond around a shell-shaped structure—almost like the buildings she and Cloud had seen in the earlier dream, but half sunken in the soft ground of the marsh. Red crystals glittered around it—materia?—jutting out from the tiny green pool, framing the pearly shell.

“Is that…” She looked up again, craning her neck and studying the array of cracks. The largest break was directly above the structure, with the cracks spreading outward.

“It’s the anchor.” Haku nodded, lifting his own eyes to the sky, “And that…is where she shoved it through.”

And _that_ was what she needed to fix.

She wasn’t sure if it was _possible._ And even if it was, the remaining night would not be long enough for this.

But for them, she would try. For the boy she’d found wandering on the edges of her dream. For the dragon who’d come in search of the lost one, locked in a bargain with unexpected consequences. She didn’t know their story, only what bits and pieces she’d gotten out of Cloud, and later what Haku had told her, but she didn’t need to.

She reached out for the collection of her ancestors—the souls of all the cetra who came before her. They’d always been faint, the sound muffled by the insulation of her own dreams, but here…standing so close to where that insulation had been carelessly stripped away…

The ghost of arms around her, the scent of lilies. Her mother’s voice, even now only a distant memory. It was in that collective somewhere. She could almost imagine her mother’s smile, even as she could no longer recall her face. If she could step through one of those cracks, out of the safety of human dreams, would she see that smile again?

 _Not yet._ It seemed to turn sad, _but maybe someday._

Aerith let the knowledge of the Ancients flow through her, searching for a way to heal a torn soul.

x-x-x

Terrified humans didn’t quite have the same appeal as they once did, Hiei thought, watching the last of the priests run screaming off the edge of the shrine’s property and down the tall flight of stone stairs. Fire-light lit the night, dancing on the burning remains of a stall somewhat to his left. Souvenirs. The priest had been closing up when Hiei’d arrived.

Hiei hadn’t been _gentle_ or even subtle _,_ he needed the priest’s fear to summon the guardians, but he hadn’t been the one to set the stall on fire. The culprit for that was the broken oil lamp in shattered pieces on the ground where a flailing arm had knocked it off.

Humans. It was pathetic. At least the Moron kept his head in the face of a demon, even if he didn’t use it much.

And where the hell were the guardians? If bullying the attending priests and threatening to burn the shrine down weren’t enough—

“You won’t attract them that way.”

Well, well. Looks like he’d drawn a fox. It just wasn’t quite the fox he was looking for.

“Hn.”

Kurama stepped out of the shadows near the tori-gate, and Hiei eyed the other detective. He looked exhausted. His youki was agitated, almost eclipsing the sense of his human spirit energy. Hn, looked like the instability hadn’t settled down yet. He shouldn’t be out here and pushing it, especially not with being on probation.

“Koenma sent you.” It wasn’t a hard conclusion. The fox wouldn’t be here for any other reason. He specifically picked a shrine away from Kurama’s neighborhood. Any consequences from his blaspheming would have fallen on him alone. Koenma had a tendency to send Kurama when he wanted to talk Hiei out of something

“Mmm, yes.” Kurama stepped toward the merrily burning fire, now catching onto the advertisement suspended above the stall. His eyes seemed to reflect the warm light of the fire. “He seemed convinced you would do something…reckless. You really should probably put that out. We wouldn’t want the neighbors to call the fire brigade. The guardians know you are holding the fire. The humans, would not.”

Hn. He should have just let the place burn. Would have, once upon a time. Hiei withdrew the youki he’d been using to fan the flames, but kept a grip on the fire itself so it wouldn’t leap from the already charred stall to the nearby wooden buildings. The guardians would know, would they? Then they should know he was the reason the entire place didn’t go up in flames when the priest knocked over an _oil lamp_ near wooden buildings.

He chose to ignore the fact that it likely wouldn’t have happened without his presence here.

Without his youki feeding it, and its source of fuel already used up, the fire quickly faded to embers, stubbornly clinging to the charred remains of the souvenir stall.

“I won’t apologize.”

Damn omnipotent gods and their servants. He glared up at the shadowed silhouettes of the pair of fox statues flanking the main shrine, silly red bib and all. They just seemed to laugh at his attempts to draw them out. If he really had to do major damage to get their attention… His hand drifted to his sword, loosening the blade from saya with a snick of metal. Maybe a shattered statue was a good start…

“Don’t even think about it,” Kurama knew him well enough to guess where his mind was going, “There’s no need.”

“This isn’t _just_ about you, fox.” Hiei crossed his arm, “You don’t get to decide that.”

He wanted to see this through to the _end._ Even if that meant hunting down a god. If no humans were hurt, Spirit World couldn’t get after him about it. Property damage was a necessary evil on a case, and this was _his_ case.

“I do.” With the firelight gone, so was the golden glow in the fox’s eyes, leaving them a shaded green in the faint light from the moon. Hiei narrowed his eyes—no gold in the eyes, no silver bleeding into his hair… With the amount of youki currently running through the fox’s aura, he should be on the edge of transforming, not calmly picking up some small half-charred trinket from the stone-paved yard and shaking his head at the waste. Frowning, Hiei loosened his grip on the Jagan, intending to check on the damage…

Hiei froze. And then _moved_ , pinning the too-slow fox to the stone-paved yard, his drawn sword sitting naked against the exposed neck.

“Who are you?” He growled. It wasn’t just that his youki was eclipsing the human reiki, there _wasn’t_ any. Hiei had studied the other detective’s aura for _months_ , tracking the fluctuations between mostly- human and the spike of youki before the summonings. It was a close fake, _definitely_ kitsune. But not close enough. Kurama’s youki had been unstable and unusually prominent last night, yes, but even fully transformed, his human spirit energy would still be there—woven tightly into the fabric of his strength. Kurama, as much as Hiei was loath to admit it, _was_ a human as much as he was demon. One of the few tolerable ones.

“Aren’t you being a little rash?” Damn it, the impostor even had Kurama’s mannerisms down, still calm despite the precarious position, that stupid smile indicating amusement. Irritated, Hiei increased the pressure on the blade, a drop of blood trickling from the thin slice. “Too bad. This could have been much easier.”

…something else moved in the yard, a gathering cloud of youki behind him.

Hiei _moved_ , the force of his sudden jump sending him to the top of the tori gate at the entrance to the shrine before the large claws finished slicing through the afterimage he left behind. The second fox was a shadow in the night, a hulking and indistinct guardian hovering over the imposter as he stood, brushing dirt and dust off his uniform.

…of _course_ there was more than one guardian. There’d been a _pair_ of statues laughing at him.

“Koenma’s request had been a peaceful resolution.” The imposter shook his head regretfully, “But you have assaulted a guardian. Gintarou won’t tolerate that. I’m sorry.”

Hn. Hiei gripped his weapon, the fox’s blood a dark, drying stain against the reflected moonlight. Good. Peaceful resolutions were boring anyway.

\--

 

 


End file.
